


kiss me just to shut me up

by dickpuncher420



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Bending (Avatar), M/M, Skater Boy Sokka, Tattoo Artist Zuko
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickpuncher420/pseuds/dickpuncher420
Summary: Zuko proffers the card, and Sokka takes it, their fingers brushing. Sokka tries to cover up the way he shivers at the contact by turning the card over and squinting at the text written on the front.Zuko Sozin. Tattoo Artist. The Jasmine Dragon.A single dragon curls around the characters in red ink.—There's a new tattoo and piercing shop on Ember Island Beach.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 421
Kudos: 1240





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waffleprince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waffleprince/gifts).



> this fic was completely inspired by peachieflame's [skater boy sokka x tattoo artist zuko art](https://twitter.com/peachieflame/status/1300634367635730432?s=20).
> 
> this is also my first time writing a multichapter fic so please bear with me. i can't guarantee when it will update but i will never forgive myself if i don't finish this so. do what u will with that.
> 
> cw: mentions of piercing/tattooing/needles

_“And I could die_  
_To find that simple kind of love_  
_You can’t deny”_

– _Say It, Just Say It,_ The Mowgli’s

The Ember Island Beach boardwalk is always crowded this time of year. Sokka weaves nimbly between pedestrians, his skateboard trundling along the cracked pavement. He’s just skirted around a gaggle of wide-eyed tourists when there’s an unfamiliar flash of green in the corner of his eye—and he skids to a stop so suddenly that he almost drops his slushie.

“Shit!” he yelps, flailing to catch it before it hits the ground. A few passerby give him weird looks, but he ignores them, thoroughly distracted by the shopfront before him.

His family has been coming to Ember Island every summer since he was little, so he knows the boardwalk like the back of his hand—and this shop definitely wasn’t here last year. What he remembers was once an ailing convenience store has been completely transformed: the peeling white paint has been replaced with a fresh coat of jade green, and the polished windows show the work of a loving hand. Taped up against the inside of the windows are multitudes of ink drawings, interspersed with a handful of colourful stickers. A flimsy cork-board is propped up beside the front door, pinned with paper cutouts of more ink drawings, with a little label at the top that reads “Flash Tattoos” in handwritten characters.

The sign above the shop reads “The Jasmine Dragon Tattoo and Piercing”. The front door is propped open invitingly.

Sokka sucks in a sharp breath. He’s always wanted to get his ears pierced…

But shit, his dads would totally kill him. Well, maybe not _kill_ him, but Hakoda would give him that disappointed look that makes Sokka feel like shit and Bato would probably judge him but still try to act supportive. Although…Sokka _is_ twenty-one now, he’s been an adult for three whole years—he can make his own decisions about his body. Right?

…Maybe he should get a second opinion.

Before he lets himself think about it too hard, he pulls out his phone and hits dial on the most recent number in his contacts. It rings a few times, then:

“What do you want?”

“Hey, Katara,” Sokka says. He rolls his skateboard around on the ground with his foot, swirls his slushie around with his free hand. “What would you say if I got my ears pierced?”

“What, like right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Sokka…” He knows that tone of voice. It’s the one she uses when she knows he’s about to do something stupid.

“Come on, you know I’ve wanted to get my ears pierced for like, forever.”

“Where would you even get it done though? There aren’t any piercing shops in town.” A gasp. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on doing it _yourself.”_

“No, no, of course not! I’m not _that_ stupid. Spirits, have a little faith in me.” He rolls his eyes, even though she can’t see it. “There’s actually a shop that just opened up on the boardwalk. It’s called The Jasmine Dragon?”

The audio crackles a little bit as she sighs. “Don’t move. I’ll meet you there.” And then she hangs up.

Sokka blinks down at his phone. The call didn’t even last an entire minute.

Well, good to know that his sister is willing to drop everything to come support his impulse decisions.

Unless she’s coming to kick his ass and then drag him home. Or drag him home and then kick his ass. Then that would suck.

He finds an empty bench to sit down on as he waits, rolling his skateboard back and forth beneath his feet. His slushie is doing that annoying thing where he can’t suck it up with his straw anymore, so he sets it to the side to let it melt a little in the summer heat. His tank top is starting to stick to his back with sweat—as much as he loves Ember Island, he’s still Water Tribe born and raised—but he does his best to ignore it as he scrolls through his phone, hunched over to shield it from the glare of the sun.

He’s laughing at some stupid video of a flying lemur—who knew they were so scared of cucumbers?—when a shadow falls over him and he glances up, squinting.

“Hey, stupid,” Katara says. She reaches out and ruffles his hair; Sokka bats her hand away with an annoyed huff.

“How many times have I told you to stop doing that?” he whines.

“So many,” she says with a smirk.

Sokka pulls the elastic out of his hair and redoes his wolftail as he climbs to his feet. “You want the rest of my slushie?”

She peers over into his cup. “What is that, cherry? Ew, no thanks.”

“You’re so picky,” Sokka says, rolling his eyes and taking a sip.

“Not everyone likes disgustingly artificial sweetness.” She crosses her arms. “So, you’re really gonna do it this time? No chickening out?”

“Hey, I only ‘chickened out’ last time because Dad found out at the last second!”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

They head over to The Jasmine Dragon, Sokka on his skateboard as Katara pulls him along, the same way they did when they were kids. Katara lets out a quiet whistle as they approach, her eyes raking appreciatively over the refurbished shopfront.

“They really cleaned this place up,” she says. “What was even here before, a grocery shop?”

“A convenience store,” Sokka answers. “One that specifically sold a lot of cabbages. I have no idea why.”

Sokka dumps his empty cup into a nearby garbage can, and then they make their way inside.

It takes a second for Sokka’s eyes to adjust to the dimness of the shop—he probably should have been wearing sunglasses outside, but whatever—but when they finally do, he spots a girl with a frankly frightening number of piercings sitting behind a counter against the wall.

“Hi,” Sokka says, plastering a winning smile on his face and strolling over. “Do you guys do walk-ins?”

The girl looks up at him—well, in his general direction. Her eyes are a pale, milky white.

“Tattoo or piercing?” she says.

“Um, piercing,” Sokka says. “For my ears.”

“Mm, yeah, I have time.” She jerks her head in Katara’s direction, despite Katara not having said anything. “What about you?”

“Oh!” Katara puts her hands up. “Uh, no, nothing for me. I’m just here for moral support.”

The girl raises an eyebrow. “Are you _sure?”_

“Uh, well…”

Sokka turns to look at her, frowning. “Katara?”

She blushes. “Well, I’ve been kind of thinking about maybe… _gettingmybellybuttonpierced,”_ she finishes in a rush.

Sokka’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, really?”

“What?” she says defensively. “I didn’t say anything about you piercing your ears!”

“No, I mean! I’m just surprised. You never said anything about it before. I think it’s cool.”

“So is that a yes on the bellybutton piercing?” the girl interjects. “Because I can probably squeeze you in before my next appointment, but not if you guys don’t stop bickering.”

Katara frowns. “Hey, that’s a little rude, don’t you think?”

“Ignore her!” Sokka says, stepping in front of her. He really doesn’t want to get kicked out of the only piercing shop on Ember Island. “Uh, yes on the ear piercings, and uh…” He shoots Katara a questioning look.

She takes a fortifying breath and nods.

“And yes on the bellybutton piercing too,” Sokka adds.

“Sweet,” the girl says. She hops off her stool and grabs two clipboards, gesturing for them to follow her into the next room. There’s a small waiting area with a worn-looking couch, which Sokka flops onto, Katara gingerly settling down next to him. The girl shoves the clipboards in their direction. “Call for me when you’re done filling these out; I’ll be at my station setting up. My name’s Toph.”

“Thanks, Toph,” Sokka says. Katara just grumbles wordlessly.

As Toph disappears around the corner, Sokka turns to Katara. “You know, you shouldn’t be so rude to the person who’s literally about to stab you with a needle.”

Katara shoves him. “She was rude first!”

They spend the next few minutes filling out the forms—there are a _lot_ more questions than Sokka expected—and then they call Toph back over. She takes the clipboards without even glancing at them.

“You two have your IDs?” she says.

“Oh, yeah, let me just…” Sokka digs around in his bag (“Fanny packs are cool now, Katara, okay?”) for his wallet, while Katara roots around in her purse. They brandish their cards towards Toph at the same time.

“Sweet,” Toph says, and begins to walk away.

“Um, aren’t you even going to look at them?” Katara says.

Sokka elbows her.

“In case you didn’t notice, I _can’t_ , but I was just going to take your word for it and trust that you guys aren’t underage and trying to trick me. But if you really care that much…” Toph sighs. “Aang!”

“Yeah?” A guy’s head pops out around the corner, tattooed with a giant blue arrow.

“Check these over for me,” Toph says, snatching the IDs out of their hands and handing them to him, together with the clipboards.

Aang takes a second to look over the documents, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then he looks up with a grin. “Looks good to me!”

“Great.” Toph gestures for Sokka and Katara to take their IDs back from Aang. “Come with me.”

Sokka jumps up, following close on her heels; Katara huffs theatrically but is right behind him. As they pass Aang, Sokka hears him say, “Hey, I like your hair loopies.”

“Oh! Thank you,” Katara says. “I like your tattoos.” Sokka rolls his eyes; he doesn’t even have to look back at her to know that she’s blushing.

“Thanks!”

“Aang, quit flirting with the customers,” Toph says from where she’s rummaging around at her station, pulling out a box of black latex gloves.

“I—I wasn’t flirting!” Aang sputters.

“Sure you weren’t, Twinkletoes.” She gestures to the chair in front of her. “Alright, ear guy, you’re up first.”

“My name’s Sokka,” he says. He props his skateboard up against the wall and settles gingerly onto the cushioned pleather seat.

“Sokka. Cool name. Water Tribe?” Toph says, but Sokka can barely hear it over the loud buzzing sound that suddenly fills the room. He whips his head around, finally noticing the third station in the far corner of the room. There’s a guy hunched over the table, his messy black hair falling into his eyes as he carefully tattoos his client’s arm. He pauses for a second, the room going quiet again as he swipes his hair away from his face, and Sokka swears he feels his heart stop.

He’s _gorgeous._

From here, Sokka can only see the side of his face, but it’s enough for him to tell that this guy is beautiful. Like, earth-shatteringly beautiful. Like, you could write poems about that face kind of beautiful—and Sokka has dabbled in poetry himself, so he knows what he’s talking about.

Sharp jaw. Strong nose. Stunning, Fire Nation yellow eyes. A head of disheveled, soft-looking hair. The snakebite piercings that adorn his bottom lip make Sokka want to _swoon._

And then he turns his head a bit, and Sokka gets a look at his whole face, and oh sweet spirits that is a _wicked_ scar.

“Yeah…” Sokka swallows thickly, his mouth feeling suddenly dry. “Uh, who’s that?”

“Who’s who?” Toph says.

“Um, guy in the corner. Black hair?” _Drop dead gorgeous,_ he doesn’t say. “He’s tattooing someone right now.”

“Oh, _Zuko.”_ Toph grins knowingly. “Yeah, he’s one of the tattoo artists here, along with Aang. His uncle owns the shop. Why?”

“Just…curious,” Sokka answers. He looks over at Katara, who is watching him with an unimpressed look on her face.

Sokka makes a face at her. Like she’s one to talk. She and Aang have been making goo-goo eyes at each other since she walked in.

“Okay,” Toph says, drawing his attention back to her. She’s holding up a disinfectant wipe. “You ready?”

“Oh,” Sokka says. His nerves make a sudden appearance, hitting him all at once, and he feels abruptly like he might pass out. “Um. Yes?”

“We’re just talking a standard ear piercing, right? Just the lobes, nothing fancy?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then you have nothing to worry about.” She pats his arm in what is probably supposed to be a comforting way, but it mostly just hurts. “Some people get their ears pierced when they’re _babies._ You’ll barely even feel it.”

Katara appears next to him. “Do you want me to hold your hand?” she asks. It comes out kind of sarcastic, but Sokka knows that she’s being sincere.

“…Yeah,” Sokka says, his voice small.

Katara doesn’t say anything, and neither does Toph, as Sokka grips Katara’s hand with enough force that it probably hurts. He’s silently grateful that neither of them make fun of him for it.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road,” Toph says, a little too gleefully, and Sokka squeezes his eyes shut.

All thoughts of the beautiful tattoo artist fly out the window as Toph disinfects his earlobe, Sokka doing his best to keep his breathing even. Katara squeezes his hand reassuringly.

The next few minutes pass by in a blur. There’s strong pinch on his earlobe, and then the other one a couple minutes later. Katara switches sides to hold his other hand halfway through, freeing up space for Toph. Sokka keeps his eyes shut the entire time.

“Aaand you’re done!” Toph finally announces. She pulls off her gloves with a _snap_.

Sokka peels his eyes open. “Really?”

“Yep!” Toph says, popping the _P._ “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No, it really wasn’t.” He automatically reaches up to feel his ears, but Katara slaps his hand away. “How do I look?”

“How should I know? I’m blind!” Toph says, and then dissolves into a fit of laughter.

There’s a groan from the other side of the room, and Sokka looks over to see the gorgeous tattoo artist—Zuko—sitting back on his stool, peeling off his gloves. His client is twisting her arm around, admiring her new tattoo from every angle.

“Ignore her,” Zuko says. “She does this to all of her clients.”

“Because it’s _funny!”_ Toph says, slapping her knee.

Sokka doesn’t pay her any mind, though, too caught up by the sound of Zuko’s voice. Does he smoke? He really hopes he doesn’t smoke, because that’s bad for your lungs, but holy _shit_ that is a nice voice. So raspy. Spirits, he really hopes that his face isn’t betraying any of his thoughts right now, because that would be embarrassing.

“I think it looks really good, Sokka,” Katara says. He turns to face her, and she’s giving him him that unimpressed look again. So he _was_ being a bit too obvious. “Dad’s gonna kill you, though.”

“Nah, he won’t kill me, because you’re getting pierced too. Solidarity!”

“Unless he just kills us both.”

“Ah.” Sokka sinks back into his seat. “He wouldn’t kill both of his children, would he?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Okay, out of the chair, Snoozles. It’s your sister’s turn,” Toph says. She’s already pulling on a new pair of gloves.

Sokka does as he’s told. “Snoozles?”

“Yeah, cause I could’ve sworn you were snoozing as I pierced your ears.”

“Genius,” Sokka says with a roll of his eyes.

Toph wipes down the chair—and Sokka is a little relieved that she can’t see, because that is a pretty gnarly butt-sweat stain that he left on the seat—and gestures for Katara to sit.

Sokka wanders over to the mirror propped up against the wall as Toph lets Katara pick out a piercing. He whistles appreciatively at his reflection, turning his head this way and that.

“Not bad, Sokka, not bad at all,” he mutters to himself, admiring the way the metal glints in his ears. He flexes his arms a little, for good measure.

“It looks good,” says a voice from behind him, and Sokka nearly jumps out of his skin.

He whirls around to find Zuko standing behind him, hands help up in apology.

“Sorry,” he says in that stupidly sexy voice of his. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s—it’s fine,” Sokka says, because what else is he supposed to say when the most beautiful man he’s ever seen is standing three feet away from him, and _complimenting him_ on top of that?

Tui and La, he’s even prettier up close. Sokka is incredibly thankful at that moment that his dark skin hides his blush so well.

“Um, do you really think it looks good?” he asks, and then immediately wants to smack himself in the face. Fishing for compliments, much?

But then Zuko gives him a small smile, and Sokka thinks okay, maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Yeah,” Zuko says. “The silver looks nice. Toph made a good choice.”

“Oh.” Sokka’s hand flies up to his ear. “She didn’t even ask me. How…did she know?”

“She’s a metalbender,” Zuko says, and _oh,_ okay, that explains a lot.

Zuko’s eyes suddenly zero in on Sokka’s bare shoulder, and he takes a half-step closer. “Is that a tattoo?” he asks, peering intently at Sokka’s arm.

Sokka instinctively slaps his hand over it before he realizes what he’s doing. He slowly lowers his hand, craning his head around to look at the small crescent moon and stars that adorn his left shoulder.

“Oh, uh, yeah. It’s a stick and poke. I did it myself a few years back.” He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a whole story behind it, but he doesn’t think he needs to get into his traumatic backstory with a stranger—even if said stranger is mind-numbingly beautiful.

“It’s really good,” Zuko says. His hand comes up, as if to touch it, and Sokka’s stomach drops down to his knees. Zuko seems to think better of it at the last second, though, and he drops his hand back to his side. “It could use a touch-up, though.”

“Oh. You think?”

“Yeah.” Zuko steps back, out of Sokka’s breathing space—Sokka tries not to feel disappointed—looking almost nervous. “Um. I could, do it for you? If you want?”

Sokka perks up immediately. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Zuko gives him that little smile again, and Sokka genuinely wishes then that he had a photographic memory so that he could capture the moment and remember it forever. It’s _that_ nice. “Um, not right now though. I have another client coming in soon. But I can give you my business card?”

“Yeah, that’d be great!” Sokka says, and shoots Zuko his most winning smile. Zuko ducks his head and motions for Sokka to follow him to the front desk.

Zuko’s client is waiting near the counter, looking at her phone. “Just give me a second, Ty Lee,” Zuko says, and heads behind the desk. He plucks a business card from the stack and flips it over, pulling a pen from his pocket and uncapping it with his teeth. Sokka should probably find that gross, but he can’t stop staring at the way Zuko’s lips curl around the pen cap.

“The shop’s number is on the card,” Zuko says, his words a little garbled by the cap in his mouth, “but my schedule is pretty full, so I’ll give you my personal number and I’ll text you to let you know when I have some free time.”

Sokka wants to pump his fist in triumph, but restrains himself. His personal phone number! Sure, it’s for professional reasons, but still. Score.

Zuko proffers the card, and Sokka takes it, their fingers brushing. Sokka tries to cover up the way he shivers at the contact by turning the card over and squinting at the text written on the front.

_Zuko Sozin. Tattoo Artist. The Jasmine Dragon._

A single dragon curls around the characters in red ink.

“Sweet. Thanks,” Sokka says. He shoves the card into the pocket of his shorts. “I, uh, should probably get back to my sister.”

“Yeah, of course,” Zuko says. He smiles, and the cap falls out of his mouth. Sokka watches as he scrambles to catch it, but he misses and it falls to the floor. Zuko disappears behind the counter to pick it up—and then there’s a loud thud and an “ _Oof,”_ as the counter rattles violently. There’s a beat, and then Zuko emerges, face red and rubbing at the top of his head. It’s horrifically endearing.

Sokka presses his lips together, trying not to smile. “I didn’t see anything,” he says with a wink.

Zuko chuckles. The sound of it makes Sokka’s heart beat erratically in his chest. “Thanks.”

Sokka claps his hands together. He really needs to get out of here before he does something incredibly stupid, like try to ask Zuko out on a date. “Okay! Well, I’m gonna,” Sokka jerks a thumb over his shoulder, “go.”

Zuko gives him a little wave. Sokka shoots him some finger guns—finger guns? really?—and spins around, promptly smacking into a potted plant. He rights it with a panicked hiss before it can topple over, makes an embarrassed face at Zuko—and Ty Lee, who is watching this all go down with amused grin—and then shuffles out of the room.

“What were you doing?” Katara asks when he makes his way back to Toph’s station. Her shirt is rolled up to expose her midriff, and Toph is busy disinfecting her bellybutton.

“Nothing,” Sokka says, too quickly. Katara narrows her eyes at him. “Just, Zuko offered to touch up my tattoo for me, so he gave me his number.”

“His _number?”_ Katara’s eyes are wide with disbelief.

“His business card.” He pulls it out and waves it at her. “Strictly business, don’t worry.”

Of course, he wouldn’t mind if it _weren’t_ strictly business, but he’s not about to tell that to Katara.

Toph chuckles. “Oh, Sparky,” she says, and then doesn’t elaborate.

Sokka grabs a chair and pulls it up to sit next to Katara. He can tell that she’s nervous, even if she would never admit it. “Do you want me to hold your hand?” he says.

Katara shakes her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Sokka pulls out his phone, but he leaves one hand free, resting invitingly on his thigh. Just in case.

“Ready?” Toph says.

Katara nods stiffly. When Toph doesn’t react, Katara says, “Yes.”

“Okay, here we go.”

Sokka watches out of the corner of his eye as Katara screws her eyes shut, her fingers digging into the armrests of her chair. The second Toph touches her abdomen, she flinches violently, and whips one hand out to grip Sokka by the bicep. It _hurts,_ like a cat-owl is gouging its claws into his arm, but Sokka keeps his mouth resolutely shut.

“Relax,” Toph says, her voice surprisingly gentle. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I _am_ relaxed!” Katara snaps.

“Katara, it’s going to be fine. I barely even felt mine,” Sokka says. He pries her fingers away from his arm, and laces their hands together instead. “Come on, are you telling me you’re afraid of a little needle? Chicken-pig.”

“Don’t call me a chicken-pig,” she says, frowning. But she does relax a little bit, her shoulders losing some of their stiffness.

“That’s better,” Toph says. “You think you’re ready now?”

“Yeah,” Katara says. Sokka squeezes her hand in a way that he hopes is reassuring.

After that, things go rather smoothly. Toph pierces Katara’s bellybutton, and Katara only yelps a little, and then the next thing they know Toph is pulling off her gloves with a satisfied grin.

“There you go, Sweetness. Not too bad, right?” Toph says.

Katara gives her a smile that’s a little watery around the edges. “Yeah.”

Sokka helps Katara out of the chair as Toph begins to tidy up her station. “Just give me a minute, I’ll meet you guys out front,” Toph says.

Aang looks up from where he’s doodling in a sketchbook as they pass him by. “Hey, that looks really great!” he says, nodding towards Katara’s still-exposed midriff.

Katara blushes, and pulls her shirt down to cover her stomach. “Thanks.”

“You’re really brave. I don’t think I could ever get any piercings,” he says.

“But you’re okay with tattoos?” Sokka asks skeptically.

“Tattoos and piercings are completely different!” Aang says, waving his pencil around. “One’s just putting ink under the skin, and the other is actually poking a hole _through_ the skin.” He shudders.

Sokka rolls his eyes, but Katara looks sympathetic. Sokka grabs his skateboard and pulls her away before they can start making out right in front of him.

“It was nice meeting you, Katara!” Aang calls out as they round the corner. “And you too, Sokka!”

When they get to the front, Zuko is still there, but he’s been joined by a new client with a truly unfortunate moustache. Zuko looks up in the middle of explaining something to the guy, and he and Sokka lock eyes. Sokka’s stomach flutters. Zuko gives him a small smile, his eyes crinkling minutely, and then he turns back towards his client.

They loiter awkwardly for a minute—Sokka valiantly ignoring the knowing looks that Katara is shooting his way—until Toph arrives, rubbing her hands together.

“Alright, Sparky. Scoot,” she says, hip-checking Zuko out of the way. She barely comes up to his chin, but that doesn’t stop Zuko from stumbling and nearly careening into the wall. He catches himself with a hand on the desk and shoots Toph a half-hearted glare. It’s kind of adorable.

“I’m with a client,” he grumbles, but moves out of the way. “Haru, we can move to the waiting room if you’d like.”

“Sure,” Ugly Moustache Guy says, and follows as Zuko leads him out of the room.

Right before Zuko walks out, he turns around and says, to Sokka, “Don’t forget to text me. Um, for your touch-up, I mean.”

“I won’t!” Sokka says, bouncing on his heels and giving Zuko an enthusiastic little wave. Zuko grins self-consciously and waves back before stepping through the doorway, and Sokka’s heart soars.

When Sokka turns back to Toph and Katara, he’s still smiling, feeling light as air. They’re both giving him the same knowing look—which is really weird, since Toph can’t even _see—_ and Sokka does his best to wipe the grin off his face, but he doesn’t think he’s entirely successful, if the way his cheeks are twitching is any indication.

“…Anyways,” Toph says. She pulls out a bottle from behind the counter and pushes it towards Katara. “Here’s the cleaning solution for your piercings. It’s a big bottle, so you two can probably share.”

She walks the two of them through the process of caring for their brand new piercings. Sokka does his best to follow along, but he’s about ninety percent sure that he’s going to forget most of it by the time they get home. As if reading his mind, Toph pulls out a small brochure and places it on the counter.

“And here are the written instructions, just in case you forget. I’ve never read them, obviously, but I’m pretty sure they’re legit.” She taps her chin thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side. “I feel like I’m forgetting something…” Her face lights up, and she snaps her fingers. “Oh! Are either of you guys waterbenders?”

“I am,” Katara says.

“Okay, great. No using any healing on the piercings; it’ll just close up the holes. You need to let them heal naturally.”

Katara pouts, and Sokka jostles her with his shoulder. “Guess you can’t use waterbending for everything,” he says cheekily.

“Whatever,” she says, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

Toph rings them up, and Sokka pays for the both of them, leaving a hefty tip. If there’s one thing that his dad taught him, it’s to tip often and to tip well.

“Thank you so much, Toph,” Sokka says, putting his wallet away. “Seriously.”

“Yeah, thanks, Toph,” Katara says, only a little begrudgingly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you’re welcome,” Toph says. She ushers them towards the door. “Now shoo, I have another client coming soon and I don’t need you two crowding up the place.”

“Tell Aang I said bye,” Katara adds.

“I will. Now _get.”_ Toph pushes them bodily out the door, and they stumble out into the late afternoon sun, blinking against the sudden brightness.

Sokka turns to Katara. “Well. We really did that.”

“Yeah, we did.” She giggles. “Oh, Dad’s gonna be _so_ mad.”

“Spirits. I don’t even want to think about it. Wanna go get some ice cream?”

“Didn’t you _just_ have a slushie?”

“Yeah, and now I want ice cream.”

Katara shakes her head at him in disbelief. “I will never understand you.”

They go to the little ice cream shop that sits a block away—Sokka gets a double scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough and cookies n’ cream, while Katara gets a single scoop of vanilla, because she’s boring—and wander leisurely around the boardwalk as the ice cream drips down their fingers, in no rush to get home.

Eventually, though, their phones light up with twin texts from Hakoda in the family group chat, warning them that dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Sokka shoots Katara a panicked look; he finds his trepidation mirrored in her own expression.

“Well,” Sokka says. “Here goes nothing.”

It’s really not that bad, in the end. Sure, Hakoda’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when Sokka walks through the door with his brand new bling in his ears, and Bato almost busts a rib laughing when Katara meekly pulls up her shirt to show off her bellybutton piercing. But neither of them are angry—even though Hakoda does shake his head and shoots them both that signature disappointed look.

Sokka can’t even find it in himself to feel bad, though. As he sits at the dinner table, his family talking boisterously around him, he slips his hand into his pocket and thumbs the hard edge of Zuko’s business card. If he runs his finger over it, he swears that he can just barely feel the indent of Zuko’s phone number scrawled on the back.

It sends a thrill of excitement shooting through him.

Yeah, he thinks. The piercings were definitely a good idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Zuko’s singular brow is furrowed, his lips pursed and pink as he concentrates. From here, Sokka can properly see the waxy, shiny texture of his scar, the way that it extends past his temple and disappears into his hair. He doesn’t find it off-putting. It’s actually strangely beautiful, in a way.  
> _
> 
> _Zuko’s bangs are falling into his eyes. Sokka is struck with the intense urge to brush them back for him._
> 
> — 
> 
> Sokka goes in for his touch-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: discussion of tattooing/needles

> hey this is sokka [2:13 pm]
> 
> the guy from the tattoo shop [2:13 pm]
> 
> thats really vague lol [2:14 pm]
> 
> u said u would touch up my tattoo for me? [2:14 pm]
> 
> [3:04 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Hi Sokka
> 
> [3:04 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Yes I remember you
> 
> :D [3:05 pm]
> 
> [3:05 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Haha
> 
> [3:06 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Are you free next Wednesday?
> 
> [3:06 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** I have some free time near the end of my shift
> 
> [3:06 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Around 4:30
> 
> wednesday the 9th? [3:07 pm]
> 
> [3:08 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Yes
> 
> yeah im free [3:08 pm]
> 
> [3:10 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Great see you then
> 
> awesome see u! [3:10 pm]
> 
> cant wait :) [3:11 pm]

—

Sokka groans and shoves his phone in Suki’s direction, burying his face in his hands.

Suki frowns at it. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

Sokka throws his hands in the air. “I’m being way too obvious!”

She turns her frown on him. “This is barely even a conversation.”

“Yeah, but he was being like, super professional, and I’m over here acting like some sort of lovestruck idiot!” He snatches the phone from her hands and points aggressively at the screen. “Like, seriously? _Can’t wait, smiley face?_ What’s wrong with me!”

Suki crosses her arms. “I really don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, to _you._ You haven’t met the guy. He’s like, a supermodel.”

“Maybe it didn’t come across as flirting to him. Maybe he just thinks you’re like this with everyone.”

“ _Argh!”_

“What, did you _want_ it to come across as flirting?”

“Yes! No! I don’t know!” Sokka drags his hands down his face. “I mean, I barely even know the guy. What if he turns out to be a huge jerk?”

Suki shrugs. “Then he turns out to be a huge jerk and you never have to see him again.”

“But _Sukiiii_ ,” Sokka whines. “He’s so _hooot_.”

Suki leans back against her lifeguard chair and shoots him an unimpressed look. “Remember what happened the last time you went out with someone even though they were a jerk, just because they were hot?”

“Hey!” Sokka points an accusatory finger at her. “We promised to never speak about Jet ever again! That was a one-time mistake!”

“Okay, so don’t make the same mistake twice.”

Sokka huffs and shoves his phone back into his pocket. “You’re not being very helpful.”

“I never said I was trying to be.”

Sokka rolls his eyes and gives her a good-natured shove. It’s always nice to see Suki again, even if she is rather unhelpful when it comes to his crises about his love life. Although they don’t text much during the rest of the year, each summer they fall back into their easy friendship like they’d never been apart. It’s nice, Sokka thinks, to always have such a steady friend to come back to.

Don’t get him wrong—he loves his sister and everything, but it’s just nice to hang out with someone else whenever they come to Ember Island. There’s only so much of his family that he can handle at a time.

“So how’s the lifeguarding job treating you?” Sokka says, mimicking Suki’s stance and leaning against the chair. The parasol gives them a much-needed reprieve from the blistering sun.

“It’s great, I love it,” Suki says earnestly. “I can’t believe I’ve been working at the docks all these years when I could’ve been doing _this.”_

“You don’t find it kind of stressful, though? That someone could like, drown on your watch?”

She shrugs. “Nobody’s drowned yet. The worst thing that’s happened so far is a few jelly-squid stings.”

Sokka winces in sympathy. He’d gotten stung by a jelly-squid at this very beach a few years back, and he’d cried the entire time that Katara helped him limp back home, and for another good half-hour after that, too.

“So…did I miss anything over the past year? How are things back on Kyoshi? You meet anyone _special?”_ Sokka says, leaning in and wiggling his eyebrows.

Suki shoves his face away with a laugh. “Things are fine. I might be up for a promotion at the dojo soon, so there’s that. And, uh…” She turns away, her face flushing.

Sokka gasps. “There _is_ someone!”

“She’s not from back home,” Suki says, toeing at the sand. “She’s, uh, actually from here.”

“Wait, so you like, _just_ met? This summer?”

Suki nods. Sokka looks at her expectantly.

She throws her hands up with a huff. “Fine, okay! Her name’s Ty Lee. She’s like, a world-class gymnast, and she’s really sweet. We met when she accidentally nailed me in the head with a volleyball when I was on duty.” She smiles fondly. “She was really concerned. It was cute.”

Ty Lee… Why does that name sound so familiar?

“Wait. Does she have, like, really long brown hair that she wears in a braid? About yay high? Very pink?”

“Uh, yeah.” Suki blinks. “Do you know her?”

“I think I met her yesterday, at the tattoo shop. Zuko was tattooing her.”

“Huh. Small world.”

“Yeah…” Sokka tips his head back against the chair. “Do you think they’re friends?”

Suki shrugs. “Seems unlikely. She was probably just his client.”

“Mm, yeah, you’re probably right.”

They stand there in silence for a minute, observing the beach before them. It’s an especially nice day, not a cloud in sight, so the beach is packed with people: families with small children, teenagers lazing around in the sun or playing frisbee, the occasional jogger loping across the sand. Sokka spots a few waterbenders out in the water, splashing their families or surfing around on boards of ice. The air is hot and sticky, but the ocean carries a cooling breeze off the water, bringing with it the smell of salt.

“You know, I’ve really missed you, Suki,” Sokka says, tilting his head towards her.

“I’ve missed you too, Sokka.” Suki leans over to press their shoulders together. It’s kind of gross and sticky, but Sokka is willing to put up with it for her. They only get so much time together each year, anyways.

There’s a sudden commotion out in the water, drawing their attention away from each other. Suki stiffens, shielding her eyes with her hand as she squints out towards the shore.

“Shit,” she hisses. “Looks like someone might try to drown on my watch after all. I gotta go.”

“Go get ‘em, tigerdillo,” Sokka says, squeezing her shoulder.

She snatches up her rescue buoy and sprints down the beach, kicking up sand in her wake. Halfway down to the water, she turns around and calls out, “I’ll see you later, Sokka! Good luck with your boy!”

Sokka waves back. “Thanks!”

He watches her careen into the water, alarmed beachgoers parting before her as she swims out against the tide with powerful strokes. Sokka is filled with a strange sense of pride. Look at his friend go, saving lives and shit.

He scoops his skateboard up, shaking the sand out of the wheels, and turns his back on the water. As he trudges through the sand back up towards the boardwalk, he casts one last glance over his shoulder.

In the distance, he spots Suki steadily making her way back towards the shore, a terrified-looking but still breathing child in tow. A few people nearby are applauding her.

Sokka smiles. She’s got it all under control.

—

Sokka is a nervous wreck for the entire day leading up to his appointment with Zuko.

They haven’t texted or anything since their first conversation, so it’s not like there’s any reason for him to think that this is anything but a professional rendez-vous, but still. Sokka wants to make a good impression.

He makes Katara help him pick out an outfit—it takes an entire hour, he’s very indecisive—and ends up brushing his teeth three separate times in the hour leading up to the appointment. If there’s one thing that Sokka is terrified of, it’s having bad breath and not knowing it.

“Hair up or hair down?” Sokka asks, tilting his head back and forth in the bathroom mirror. “You can see the piercings if I have my hair up, but hair down is like. Sexier.”

Katara is sitting on the lid of the toilet, scrolling through her phone. “Do what you want,” she says, sounding bored.

“ _Kataraaa…”_ he whines. He turns and gives her his best polar bear-dog eyes.

She tries to ignore him, but Sokka sticks his head into her space and _really_ leans into the pout. It’s a tactic that works almost every time, without fail.

“ _Ugh!_ Fine,” Katara exclaims, throwing her hands up. “Wear it down. He’s already seen your piercings, anyways.”

Sokka shoots her a grin. “Thanks.”

He brushes his hair, working out the tangles, and arranges it so that it frames his face just so. He applies just the lightest touch of makeup around his eyes and to cover up some blemishes—thank the spirits for Suki kicking the toxic masculinity out of him when he was sixteen—and then blows himself a kiss in the mirror. He looks pretty damn good, if he says so himself.

“You know it’s not a date, right?” Katara says, watching him in the mirror, a skeptical look on her face.

“I _know_ that.” Sokka sticks his tongue out at her; she does it right back. “I’m just being—courteous, you know? I can’t show up to a tattoo appointment looking like a _slob._ That’s just rude.”

Katara rolls her eyes and goes back to her phone.

At 4:19, Sokka grabs his skateboard and barrels down the stairs, remembering to grab his sunglasses off the counter this time. The boardwalk is about a twelve minute walk away—around an eight minute ride on his skateboard. If he leaves now, he should make it to The Jasmine Dragon with a few minutes to spare.

He yanks on his shoes and is nearly out the door when Hakoda, sitting on the couch reading a book, says, “And where are you going in such a hurry, son?”

Sokka freezes, his hand on the knob. “Um, just out.”

Hakoda raises an eyebrow. “Out where?”

“ _Daaad._ I’m an adult, can’t I go out somewhere without you interrogating me about it?”

“Sokka—”

“Oh, lay off him, Hakoda. He’s a grown man,” Bato says from the kitchen. “But it _would_ be nice if you told us where you were going, Sokka. Just so that we know where you are in case there’s trouble.”

Sokka sighs. Why does Bato always have to be so reasonable? “I’m going to the boardwalk. I’ll probably be back in like an hour.”

“Dinner’s at six,” Hakoda says.

“‘Kay, I’ll be back before then. _Loveyouguysbyeee,”_ Sokka sings, yanking the front door open and darting out before his parents can question him any more.

He slams the door shut and leans against it, letting out a shaky breath. His nerves are starting to get to him again. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time: 4:21. Shit. He’s definitely cutting it a little bit close, but he should still be able to make it on time.

Sokka hops on his skateboard and speeds away down the street.

By the time he arrives at The Jasmine Dragon, it’s 4:29. Sokka likes to be early to things, so he’s a little stressed out—well, a little _more_ stressed out than he already was—but at least he’s still technically on time. He’s more than a little sweaty, though, so he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and sniffs surreptitiously at his armpits.

All good.

Well, mostly all good. But there’s not much that he can do for the way that his shirt is sticking to his back right now.

As he walks through the door, skateboard under his arm, he pulls off his sunglasses and tucks them into the collar of his shirt. There’s an unfamiliar old man sitting behind the counter this time, and he looks up as Sokka clears his throat.

“Um, hi. I’m…here to see Zuko?” Sokka says, internally wincing at how unsure he sounds.

“Hmm.” There’s the sound of flipping pages as the man looks through what must be their logbook. “What is your name?”

“Sokka.”

“Sokka…” The man hums. “I am afraid that I do not see your name on the calendar. Are you certain that you have an appointment today?”

“Uh…”

“It’s okay, Uncle,” says Zuko, appearing through the doorway. Sokka’s heart rate immediately ratchets up a notch. “I told him to come in.”

“And you did not book him in?” Zuko’s uncle frowns. “You know you are supposed to keep track of these things in the logbook.”

“It’s just for a touch-up. He’s not even paying for it.”

Sokka blinks. “I’m not?”

Zuko gives him a funny look. “Of course not.”

“Oh.” Sokka opens and closes his mouth a few times, feeling lost. “Okay.”

Zuko’s face morphs into a small smile. One might say that he almost looks fond. “You can come around back.”

“Sure.” Sokka turns to Zuko’s uncle as he passes him by. “Um, it was nice to meet you, Mr…”

The man chuckles. “You may call me Uncle Iroh.”

“Right. Um. Nice to meet you, Mr. Uncle Iroh.”

When they get to the studio space, Toph and Aang are there, sitting at their respective stations. Toph is idly fiddling with a piece of dark metal, bending it into whimsical shapes, and Aang is currently tattooing someone’s calf.

They both turn towards Zuko and Sokka as they enter.

“Hey, Sokka!” Aang says, grinning. “You’re back!”

“Hey, Aang,” Sokka says with a wave. “Yeah, um, Zuko is just giving me a touch-up.”

“That’s awesome!” Aang says, and turns back towards his client, the buzzing of his machine starting up again.

“Snoozles, is that you?” Toph says.

“Yeah. Hey, Toph. Surprised to see me again so soon?”

She snorts. “Hardly. I’ve heard _allll_ about you and Sparky’s little arrangement.”

Zuko coughs. His face has gone a little pink, which makes Sokka’s stomach do all kinds of weird things. “ _Toph._ ”

“What?” she says innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

Zuko shoots her a dirty look, and grabs Sokka gently by the arm to steer him away from her and towards his station in the corner. Sokka feels his brain short circuit at the skin-to-skin contact.

“Your hands are really warm,” Sokka says, stupidly.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m a firebender,” Zuko says, and lights a small flame in his palm to demonstrate.

Agni. As if this man couldn’t get any hotter.

“I know you’re not firebending in here!” Toph calls out. Zuko ignores her.

“You can have a seat,” Zuko says, letting go of Sokka’s arm. Sokka tries not to mourn the loss of his hand. “I just have to finish setting up.”

“‘Kay.” Sokka props his skateboard up against the wall next to him and sits. He watches curiously as Zuko sets up his station, pulling out a tub of petroleum jelly and filling a small cup with water.

“It’s just black ink, right?” Zuko says, drawing Sokka’s attention back to his face.

Sokka is wholly unprepared for the full weight of Zuko’s undivided attention on him, his eyes wide and earnest as he stares back at Sokka. It feels suddenly very hard to breathe. Did direct eye contact always feel so _intimate?_

“Yeah,” Sokka squeaks. He clears his throat and looks away.

“Can I…take a look at it?” Zuko says.

Sokka turns, offering up his left shoulder. Zuko’s hands are so, so gentle as he runs his finger over Sokka’s skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. Sokka closes his eyes and forces himself to take a deep breath. He _cannot_ pass out just because a beautiful guy touched his arm. Katara would never let him live it down.

Zuko hums thoughtfully. It sounds very close. Sokka cracks his eyes open, and finds Zuko’s face hovering only a few inches away from his arm, eyes fixed intently on his tattoo. Tui and La, he can almost feel his breath against his skin.

“Have you ever thought about adding colour to it?” Zuko says.

Sokka shakes his head. “Uh, it was kind of an impulse decision. I didn’t really put that much thought into it.”

His mind helpfully supplies the memory of him sitting on the bathroom counter at 3 am, eyes bloodshot from crying and his hands trembling as he poked the needle into his skin over and over and over. An impulse decision, indeed.

But Zuko doesn’t need to know that part of the story.

“I think it would look nice,” Zuko says, sounding lost in thought. He traces his index finger over the tattoo. “A silver moon with gold stars, maybe.”

“Um.”

Zuko looks up at him then, putting them nearly nose to nose. Sokka watches Zuko’s eyes widen as he seems to suddenly register their proximity and reels back, his face flushing.

“I mean, um, of course you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Zuko stammers. He’s looking everywhere but at Sokka. “It was just an idea.”

Sokka tries to swallow past the way that his heart is hammering in his throat. “I mean, uh. I think it would be nice?”

“You…don’t seem very sure of yourself.”

“No, I just seriously haven’t ever thought of it before. Sometimes I forget it’s even there.” And doesn’t _that_ make him feel guilty. “I trust your judgement, though.”

Zuko smiles a little at that. “Really?”

Sokka smiles back. He’s sure he looks like a fool—he definitely feels like one. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Zuko says. He looks like he’s suddenly had more life breathed back into him. He grabs two bottles of ink, bluish-grey and yellow, and holds them up for Sokka to see. “What do you think of these?”

“Yeah, those look fine.”

Zuko deflates a little.

“I mean,” Sokka stutters, immediately backtracking. “They’re great! I love them.”

Zuko’s mouth twitches. “Are you sure?”

Sokka nods emphatically. “Positive.”

Seemingly satisfied, Zuko pulls on a pair of black latex gloves and begins pouring the ink into little plastic containers. Sokka tries not to fidget as Zuko disinfects his arm, casting his gaze around the shop to distract himself from Zuko’s dizzying proximity.

Aang is still working on his client, his brow furrowed in concentration and the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth. Toph seems to have disappeared. There’s some music playing quietly from a set of blocky speakers in the corner—it sounds like a tsungi horn? Sokka isn’t sure; he was never very musically inclined.

“Are you ready?” Zuko says quietly. It feels strangely intimate in a way that makes Sokka shiver.

Sokka nods. “Yep.”

“I’m going to start with the outline,” Zuko says, holding up his tattoo machine. “It’s going to hurt a little, so let me know if it’s too much. Okay?”

Sokka swallows. He’s coming to the realization that the guy definitely isn’t a jerk, which just makes things even harder for him. “Okay.”

The buzzing of the tattoo machine starts up, and Sokka takes a deep breath, clenching his hands into fists.

“Relax,” Zuko says, rubbing Sokka’s arm, which only serves to make him even _more_ on edge, but he tries to relax as best he can.

“Good,” Zuko says. “I’m gonna start now. Try not to move too much.”

Sokka doesn’t flinch when the needle first touches his skin, but it’s a near thing. It really does hurt, like he’s being clawed by Gran-Gran’s crotchety old pet mink-snake, except that it doesn’t let up. He does his best to take deep, even breaths.

“You doing okay?” Zuko asks.

“Yeah,” Sokka says, his voice tight.

“You can, um, talk if you want.” Zuko isn’t looking at Sokka, his gaze focused intently on his work, but something about his voice gives Sokka the impression that he’s embarrassed. “Or go on your phone or whatever, I don’t mind. Some people find it easier with a, uh, distraction.”

“Oh, okay.” Sokka doesn’t reach for his phone—he doesn’t want to miss a second of his time here with Zuko. There’s a few beats of awkward silence, and Sokka casts around desperately for something to say. “So, uh, how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-two,” Zuko answers. “What about you?”

“Twenty-one.” Sokka tilts his head, considering. “Isn’t that pretty young, for a tattoo artist?”

“Sure. Aang and Toph are both nineteen though, so I’m not the youngest.”

Sokka’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “They’re _nineteen?_ ”

Zuko huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. They’re kind of prodigies.”

“Oh, I know all about prodigies. You met my sister, right?”

Zuko nods. “Kind of.”

“Yeah, well, she’s a waterbending prodigy. She could beat all the older kids at the academy by the time she was, like, seven.” Sokka puffs out his chest with pride. “She’s kind of a badass.”

Zuko chuckles, his breath puffing over Sokka’s arm. It makes his skin tingle. “My younger sister is a bending prodigy, too.”

“Oh, yeah? That’s cool,” Sokka says, nodding. “Is she here on the island too?”

“Yeah. She’s pretty busy with the summer camps, though, so she’s not around much.”

“That’s too bad.”

Zuko shrugs, sitting back and stretching a little. Sokka catches a glimpse of his collarbone as his shirt slips to the side. He tries not to stare too obviously. “It’s okay. We live in the same house, so we still see each other every day.”

Zuko turns and fiddles with the machine, then comes back with a paper towel to wipe Sokka’s arm.

“The outline’s done,” he says. “If you want we can just leave it like this. We don’t have to do the colours.”

_We._ For some reason that sends a jolt up Sokka’s spine.

“No, no. Do the colours. I already said yes.”

Zuko looks uncertain. “Are you sure? It still looks good just like this.”

“What, are you trying to talk me out of it now?” Sokka jokes.

Zuko shakes his head. “No, it’s not that.” He gently touches a finger to the tattoo, where the skin is now red and swollen. “It just seems…important to you. I don’t want to change it if there’s some special meaning behind it.”

Sokka’s heart squeezes. Fuck, it looks like he’s doing this now.

“I mean…you’re not wrong,” Sokka says. He casts his gaze down, unable to meet Zuko’s eyes, and picks at a loose thread on his shorts. He takes a deep breath. “I did it for my first girlfriend. She’s gone now. Let’s just say that she, uh, turned into the moon.”

“Oh.” Sokka glances up, and finds Zuko making a confused but sympathetic face. “That’s…rough, buddy.”

It’s such an absurd response that Sokka can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, it sure is.”

“…So we probably shouldn’t do the colour then,” Zuko says.

“No! I mean, yes, I mean— _ugh,_ ” Sokka facepalms. Why can’t he form proper sentences around this guy? “I want to do the colour. She would probably think that it’s nice, actually.”

“I…are you sure?”

“Yeah. I bet she’s mad that I went and memorialized her with a shitty stick and poke—she’d probably appreciate the fact that you’re actually making it look good.”

Zuko frowns. “It’s not shitty,” he says, his voice quiet and painfully earnest.

Sokka doesn’t know how to respond to that.

He must end up staring at Zuko for what is definitely too long, because Zuko clears his throat and turns away, dipping the tip of his tattoo machine into the cup of water.

“I’ll start with the moon,” Zuko says to his workstation.

“Okay,” Sokka says, his mouth moving on autopilot.

Zuko leans back in, the needle poised over Sokka’s skin. He darts his eyes up, questioning, and Sokka gives him a jerky nod.

He’s more prepared for the feeling, this time. It still hurts, but it’s not as jarring as before; he just presses his lips together and breathes through it.

He doesn’t try to talk, and neither does Zuko. Sokka wonders if he crossed a line with the whole thing about Yue, but as far as he can tell, Zuko doesn’t seem upset, merely focused.

Sokka doesn’t mind the silence as much as other people would think, given his chatterbox tendencies. Sometimes he just likes to listen to the background noise: the buzzing of Zuko and Aang’s tattoo machines, the music floating through the speakers, the quiet whistle of Zuko’s nose as he breathes. It’s calming without being distracting.

He’s content to just watch Zuko work, this time around. Watching the tattoo needle weirds him out a little, so he focuses his attention on Zuko’s face, quietly observing him out of the corner of his eye.

Zuko’s singular brow is furrowed, his lips pursed and pink as he concentrates. From here, Sokka can properly see the waxy, shiny texture of his scar, the way that it extends past his temple and disappears into his hair. He doesn’t find it off-putting. It’s actually strangely beautiful, in a way.

Zuko’s bangs are falling into his eyes. Sokka is struck with the intense urge to brush them back for him.

He doesn’t, though, because that would be incredibly weird and definitely a violation of personal boundaries. Also, they barely know each other.

But spirits, does Sokka want to get to know him better.

“The moon’s done,” Zuko says quietly. His touch is gentle as he wipes the excess ink from Sokka’s skin.

There are only two small stars for Zuko to colour after that, so he finishes in a matter of minutes. Sokka takes a deep breath once he’s done, relaxing back into the chair and closing his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Zuko asks.

Sokka blinks his eyes open to find Zuko watching him, concern written into the lines of his face. It makes his stomach flutter dangerously.

“Yeah,” Sokka says, and gives him a small smile. “Just…taking a second to recover.”

Zuko smiles back. “Okay.” He lays a hand on Sokka’s forearm, just for a second, and then turns away to start cleaning up his station.

Eventually, Sokka sits up. He stretches, twisting his head side to side to crack his stiff neck, and tries to pretend that he can’t feel the way that Zuko’s eyes are boring into him.

“I, um, you can go take a look at it in the mirror, if you want. Before I wrap it up for you,” Zuko says after a second. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks, and Sokka feels himself blushing automatically in response.

“Sure,” Sokka says, rising out of the chair, eager to put some distance between him and Zuko. His proximity makes it hard to think properly.

The mirror is on the other side of the room. When he gets there, Sokka lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and turns to get a good look at his tattoo.

His breath catches in his throat.

It’s not anything special, by any means—just a simple crescent moon with twin stars, outlined in black with a flat wash of colour—but it’s so different from what it used to be. The stick and poke had been old and faded, the lines thin and wobbly in some places, but now…

It’s so vibrant and full of life. The way Yue had been.

Sokka is hit with such a violent flood of emotion that it makes it hard to breathe.

Zuko comes up to stand behind him, a respectful distance away. “Do you like it?” he asks nervously.

“Yeah,” Sokka says. His voice cracks. “I love it.”

And then his lip starts to wobble. Zuko, abruptly, looks stricken.

“I—what’s wrong?” he says.

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong,” Sokka says, turning away and burying his face in his hands. Spirits, this is so embarrassing. Of course he had to go and start crying in front of the prettiest—and possibly sweetest—guy he’s ever met. “It’s just—a lot.”

“A lot in a good way or a bad way?”

“A good way! I promise it’s in a good way.” Sokka sniffs. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. Just give me a minute.”

He hears the scuff of Zuko’s shoes against the wooden floor, and then there’s a light touch on his shoulder. He tries not to lean into it too obviously.

“It’s okay,” comes Zuko’s voice, soft and understanding. Sokka wishes he could hate him for being so nice, but as it is it just makes him like the guy even more.

“Sparky!” Toph’s voice booms across the studio, and Zuko’s hand disappears from his shoulder. Sokka misses it immediately. “What did you do? Why is Snoozles crying?”

“I—I didn’t do anything!” Zuko says.

“It’s okay, Toph,” Sokka says, wiping at his eyes. He turns to face her: she’s standing beside Zuko, her hands braced on her hips and a glare on her face. “I’m just being a baby.”

“Did he hurt you?” Toph grabs Sokka by the forearm. “Zuko, you know you’re supposed to let them take a break if it starts to hurt too much.”

“No, no, it’s not that. Zuko was great,” Sokka says. “I just got really, um, emotional?”

“Oh.” Toph drops his arm. “Good.”

Zuko frowns at her. “Good?”

“Means they like it.” She shrugs. “At least in my experience. Or maybe they really hate it, who knows.” And then she stomps off, back to her station.

Sokka turns back to Zuko, who’s watching him with a worried expression. He groans and drags a hand down his face; his cheeks are burning. “I’m so sorry about that. I don’t know what happened, honestly.”

“It’s okay.” Zuko seems to hesitate for a second. “Are you…sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah! Just peachy.” Sokka shoots him a thumbs up and a grin; it’s probably not very convincing. He tries for a joke to lighten the mood.“Should we go back and _wrap_ things up?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Of course,” Zuko says, the pun flying completely over his head. Sokka tries not to feel too disappointed.

They make their way back to Zuko’s station. Sokka sits back down as Zuko applies a thin layer of some sort of goop to his tattoo, and then carefully wraps it up in some plastic wrap. Sokka kind of resents how gentle he’s being; sure he might’ve just burst into tears over a little tattoo, but he’s not _fragile._

But at the same time, there’s a little part of his brain that desperately wants Zuko to keep touching him like that. That wishes that maybe Zuko would touch him like that in a different context.

And then he wants to smack himself in the face. He’s met Zuko, what, twice? And he’s already practically imagining a life together with the guy. Tui and La, get it _together,_ Sokka.

When Zuko is done, Sokka grabs his skateboard and waits for Zuko to finish cleaning up his station before following him back out to the front of the shop. Aang is still busy tattooing his client, but he gives Sokka a distracted little wave on his way out.

“See ya, Snoozles,” Toph says from where she’s lounging at her station, phone in hand and an earbud in one ear. “You better be taking good care of those piercings.”

“I am, don’t worry,” Sokka says. “See you around, Toph.”

When they reach the front desk, Uncle Iroh is nowhere to be found. Zuko heads behind the counter and bends down to rummage around for a second. He stands back up, a small tube of ointment in hand, and frowns when he finds Sokka waiting in front of the counter with his wallet out.

“How much do I owe you?” Sokka says.

Zuko shakes his head. “I told you, it’s free.”

“But that was just for the touch up! This was way more than just a touch up.” Sokka pulls out a wad of cash and starts thumbing through it. “Seriously, how much.”

“Sokka.” Zuko’s voice is firm. “I’m not letting you pay for this.”

“ _Zukooo,”_ Sokka whines. Zuko’s face goes a little pink, but he crosses his arms and stands his ground.

“No. This was—consider it a gift.”

“For _what?_ I haven’t done anything.” Sokka places some bills on the counter. “I can’t just let you give me things for free. Thats, like, taking advantage of you.”

Zuko pushes the money back towards Sokka. “I won’t take it.”

“Not even as a tip?” Zuko shakes his head, and Sokka groans. “Fine. But will you at least let me make it up to you another way?” Sokka has an idea, but it’s a bit of a long shot, and his stomach is twisting itself up with nerves.

Zuko uncrosses his arms. “What…did you have in mind?”

“Your shift’s over now, right?”

Zuko nods slowly, eyeing Sokka warily.

Sokka licks his lips and tries to project an aura of confidence. “Let me buy you dinner?”

Zuko’s eyes widen, and his face goes so red that Sokka momentarily worries about the amount of blood rushing to his head. “Um. What?”

“I—I mean, of course, only if you want to! You can say no,” Sokka stammers. “It was just a, uh, just a suggestion.”

He wants to facepalm. Spirits, how is he so _stupid?_ Did he really read everything so wrong?

“No, no, wait,” Zuko reaches over the counter and grabs Sokka’s arm before he can back away. It’s really awkward, with Zuko stuck half-sprawled across the counter, Sokka’s money fluttering to the floor as Zuko accidentally swipes it out of the way. “Wait, Sokka. I meant—I would love that.”

“Really?” Sokka says. His heart is doing somersaults in his chest—he feels suddenly lightheaded with relief.

“Yeah.” Zuko smiles, and then seems to realize that he’s still awkwardly holding onto Sokka’s wrist, because he drops it like it’s burned him and slides quickly back to the ground. “Um. Just—let me tell my uncle first.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Sokka says, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I’ll be right here.”

“Okay.” Zuko bites his lip, eyeing Sokka with an unreadable expression on his face, and then turns and flees towards the back of the shop.

Sokka lets out a shaky breath, running his trembling hands through his hair—he feels like he just ran a marathon—and stoops to pick up his scattered money. Then he pulls out his phone.

> hey change of plans [5:14 pm]
> 
> i wont be home for dinner [5:14 pm]
> 
> [5:15 pm] **katawa:** lol
> 
> [5:15 pm] **dad 1:** Why not? Bato is making gyoza
> 
> im going out for dinner [5:15 pm]
> 
> [5:15 pm] **dad 1:** With Suki?
> 
> ummmm no [5:15 pm]
> 
> someone else [5:16 pm]
> 
> [5:16 pm] **katawa:** omg
> 
> [5:16 pm] **katawa:** with zuko??????
> 
> ………maybe [5:16 pm]
> 
> [5:16 pm] **dad 1:** Who is Zuko?
> 
> just some guy i met [5:16 pm]
> 
> hes nice dw [5:16 pm]
> 
> [5:17 pm] **dad 2:** Make sure you keep your location on.
> 
> ya i know [5:17 pm]
> 
> im not stupid [5:17 pm]
> 
> [5:17 pm] **katawa:** lmao get it sokka
> 
> [5:17 pm] **dad 1:** Katara
> 
> [5:17 pm] **katawa:** what
> 
> [5:17 pm] **dad 1:** You know what
> 
> [5:18 pm] **dad 2:** Be safe Sokka. Please be home before 10.
> 
> sure thing bato [5:18 pm]
> 
> i gtg bye [5:18 pm]
> 
> love u [5:18 pm]
> 
> [5:18 pm] **dad 1:** Love you son

“Hey.” Zuko reappears right as Sokka is pocketing his phone. “You ready to go?”

Sokka grins brightly at him. “Yep! Are you?”

“Yeah. Um, don’t forget this.” Zuko grabs the tube of ointment that he’d dropped on the counter and holds it out to Sokka. “It’s for your tattoo.”

“Thanks.” Sokka takes it—their fingers brush, sending a jolt up Sokka’s arm—and zips it into his fanny pack. Then he steps to the side and bows theatrically, gesturing for Zuko to go ahead. “After you.”

Zuko gives Sokka that little smile that makes it feel like all the breath has been stolen from his lungs, and then steps past him to lead the way out of the shop, Sokka right on his heels.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I really like him, Katara,” he says in a small voice. “And I think I really messed it up.”_
> 
> — 
> 
> Sokka's date with Zuko doesn't go as well as he'd hoped.

Sokka barges into Katara’s room without knocking—barely registering her shocked expression, propped up against her pillows and book in hand—and makes a beeline for her bed, flopping onto it facedown.Katara yelps and pulls her feet away just in time to avoid having them crushed.

“What are you doing in here?” she says indignantly, poking Sokka in the side with her foot. “Can’t you knock?”

Sokka just groans wordlessly.

“Hey, what’s your deal? Are you okay?”

Sokka shrugs.

“…Did your date with Zuko not go well?” she asks, sounding suddenly concerned.

Sokka shakes his head, still facedown on the mattress. He’s kind of hoping that he’ll suffocate and die. That would be better than having to deal with the absolute disaster that was dinner with Zuko.

“Oh, Sokka.” Her voice is so gentle, and it just makes Sokka feel worse. There’s a light touch on his shoulder. “What happened?”

Sokka resigns himself to the fact that he will not, in fact, be able to smother himself to death, and lifts his head. Katara is leaning over him, her face scrunched up with worry.

“I messed up so bad,” Sokka moans.

“What did you do?”

Sokka sighs miserably and presses the side of his face into the mattress. “Remember that one time when we were eating breakfast and you made me laugh so hard that I sprayed my juice out of my nose?”

Katara gasps. “Sokka. You didn’t.”

Sokka buries his face back into the covers with a muffled wail. “I _did!”_

There’s a beat of silence as Sokka wills the mattress to swallow him up and make him disappear, and then—

Katara starts laughing. Hard. Like, gasping for breath, laugh-so-hard-you-snort hard. The bed is shaking with the force of her giggles.

Sokka wants to throw a pillow at her, but it’s too far away, and he’s not willing to make the effort to go get it. He settles for a glare, trying to make his betrayal as clear as possible. “I just had the worst, most embarrassing date of my life, and you’re _laughing_ at me? You’re supposed to be making me feel better!”

“Sorry, sorry,” she wheezes, wiping at her eyes. “I’m just imagining it—spirits, how did that even _happen?”_

“I was taking a sip of water, and then he said something really funny—I don’t even remember what. Some stupid joke about tea.” Sokka buries his face in his arms with a groan. “I didn’t even know he was funny! He’s cute _and_ funny, Katara—literally the whole package, and I went and made a huge fool of myself in front of him.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“Katara. I sprayed water out of my nose in the middle of a restaurant.”

“Okay,” Katara amends, stifling a giggle. “That is kind of bad. But maybe he thought it was funny?”

Sokka shrugs listlessly. “He laughed, I guess. But I think mostly he was just worried.”

“That’s…good?”

“Spirits, he was probably _so_ grossed out.” Sokka grabs the edge of Katara’s comforter and pulls it over his head. Ah, blissful darkness. Maybe he can stay like this forever. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he mumbles. “Just leave me here to die.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby.” Katara yanks the comforter away from his head, and he groans at the sudden brightness. She grabs him by the shoulder and tries to roll him over; Sokka grumbles but goes, and they shuffle around until he’s lying with his head in her lap, her hand in his hair. “Tell me about the rest of the date. Did you guys do something afterwards? Dinner can’t have taken you guys all night.”

Sokka huffs and fiddles with the hem of Katara’s pyjama pants. “We walked around the boardwalk for a bit and got boba.”

“That’s cute!” Katara says enthusiastically. Sokka can’t tell if she’s being genuine or not; he’s honestly too miserable to care.

“But I was so _awkward,_ Katara!” Sokka throws his hands up, narrowly missing Katara’s chin; she leans out of the way just in time. “I don’t know why he makes me so nervous! I feel like I don’t know how to act around him. I was trying to make conversation, and you know what I said? ‘Pretty clouds.’ Like, what the fuck is that?”

“Well, what did he say?”

“He was just like, ‘Yeah…fluffy.’” Sokka tries to imitate Zuko’s raspy voice, and then sighs dramatically. “He probably hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you, don’t be stupid,” Katara says. “That honestly sounds like he was just…being as awkward as you.”

“But _why?_ He’s so gorgeous and sexy and cool—I mean, he _tattoos people_ for a living! It literally doesn’t get any cooler than that.”

Katara shrugs, jostling Sokka. “Maybe you make him nervous too.”

Sokka scoffs. Like sure, he’s great and all, don’t get him wrong—but he’s not _intimidatingly beautiful,_ the way Zuko is. “Me? No way. I’m just like, some guy with a skateboard.”

“Who knows? Maybe skateboards are like, his kink.”

Sokka laughs, and then is immediately angry at himself for laughing. He’s trying to be sad, dammit! He wrestles his face back into a frown and crosses his arms. “I still think he hates me.”

“He went out for boba with you after, Sokka. He doesn’t hate you.”

“He was probably just being nice. I bet he felt bad for me, humiliating myself at dinner like that. Did I tell you I started crying after he did my tattoo? He probably thinks I’m a loser.”

“Agni, Sokka, will you stop being stubborn for two seconds? I’m trying to help you,” Katara says, exasperated.

Sokka pouts. “No.”

“Fine, then get out.” She tries to push him off her lap, but Sokka wraps his arms around her waist like a pentapus and refuses to let go, even when she jams her fingers in his armpits and wiggles them around.

“ _Nooo_ , Katara, wait—stop _tickling_ me—I’m sorry! Don’t kick me out.” She withdraws her hands, and Sokka breathes a sigh of relief.

“You’re so annoying,” she says.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He sags, all the fight draining out of him at once. He really did come here hoping to be comforted, and he doesn’t know why he’s being so resistant to it. “I didn’t mean to be a dick. I’m just…sad.”

Katara sighs. It makes him feel very small. “Oh, Sokka.”

They go quiet. Sokka listens to the faint whir of the ceiling fan, the sound of bugs chirping outside the window. He feels suddenly exhausted, emotionally and physically, and the feeling of Katara’s fingers carding through his hair is really nice. He sighs and closes his eyes. Maybe he’ll feel better in the morning.

“You know,” Katara says softly, rousing him from his dozing, “I don’t think I’ve seen you this worked up over someone since…Yue.”

Sokka’s stomach twists painfully, and he turns to press his face into Katara’s leg.

“I really like him, Katara,” he says in a small voice. “And I think I really messed it up.”

“You didn’t mess anything up.” Katara pokes gently at his cheek, and he looks up at her through the corner of his eye. “Remember what happened when you first went out with Yue?”

“…I fell into the canal.”

She nods. “You fell into the canal. And with Suki?”

“…I insulted her and she kicked my ass six ways to Sunday. Are you just going to keep bringing up all my embarrassing first date experiences? ‘Cause it’s not really making me feel better.”

Katara shushes him. “I’m just _saying,_ even though might’ve embarrassed yourself on the first date, they still wanted to keep seeing you afterwards. You didn’t mess anything up with them.” She smiles. “Yue told me once that she thought you falling into the canal was actually really endearing.”

Sokka sniffs wetly—he’s still feeling very fragile, and talking about Yue is making him sad all over again. “She did?”

“Yeah. I think it actually made her like you more.”

“So you’re saying that me spraying snot water out of my nose at a fancy restaurant is going to make Zuko like me better.”

Katara shrugs playfully. “Maybe.”

Sokka sighs. “I don’t understand how you can be so optimistic.”

“You’re already so pessimistic—one of us has to be.”

“I’m _realistic._ There’s a difference.”

“Okay, Mr. Frownypants.”

Sokka laughs a little at that, and Katara smiles at him.

“You know, it’s okay to not be perfect all the time,” she says gently. “Everyone makes mistakes. It’s what makes us human.”

Sokka takes her hand and squeezes it. “You sound like Mom.”

Katara’s smile turns a little sad, at that. She squeezes his hand back. “She’d probably tell you that you’re overthinking things, as usual.”

“I can’t help it,” Sokka sighs.

“I know.” She lightly raps the side of his head with her knuckles. “You and your big, overactive brain.”

Sokka smiles a little to himself. It’s at times like these that he’s reminded of just how much he loves his sister, annoying though she may be sometimes.

“You really think I didn’t mess things up too badly with Zuko?” he says.

“I’m positive,” she says. “And honestly, if he doesn’t want to go out with you again, that’s his loss. You’re a catch.”

Sokka gives her a teasing grin. “You think so?”

Katara rolls her eyes at him. “I won’t say it again. Agni knows your ego is already inflated enough as it is.”

Sokka sits up suddenly and wraps Katara up in a crushing hug. She doesn’t even hesitate before wrapping her arms around his back, squeezing him tight.

“Thanks, Katara,” he whispers into her ear.

“You’re welcome, you doofus.” She tugs a little at his hair, still hanging loose. “Now get out of here, for real this time. I was in the middle of something when you barged in without knocking.”

Sokka pulls back and grins at her sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you, but only if you get out of here in the next ten seconds,” she says, and gives him a shove.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” Sokka laughs, leaning over to plant a kiss in her hair before hopping off the bed.

“Sap,” she says.

“Shut up.”

“Close the door behind you.”

Katara is already picking up her abandoned book when Sokka shuts the door with a click, and makes his way down the hall towards his bedroom, a newfound spring in his step. He feels ten times lighter; like a weight has been lifted off his chest.

He’s in the middle of pulling off his shirt to change into his pyjamas when his phone buzzes with a new notification. He scrambles for it on his bed, his shirt hanging loose around his neck, and feels his heart fly into his throat when he reads the message.

> [9:38 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Hey, thanks for inviting me out for dinner. I had a lot of fun

Sokka swears he nearly faints with relief. He lets out a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, and then fumbles to type out an answer. He shimmies a little in place as he does so, his entire body buzzing with a sudden rush adrenaline.

> yw! [9:39 pm]
> 
> i had a rlly good time :) [9:39 pm]
> 
> sorry about the whole spraying water out of my nose thing [9:40 pm]
> 
> [9:40 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** It’s okay haha
> 
> [9:40 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** It was funny
> 
> …..would u maybe want to hang out again sometime? [9:41 pm]
> 
> [9:41 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** I’d like that
> 
> awesome :D [9:41 pm]
> 
> will u let me know when ur free? [9:41 pm]
> 
> [9:42 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** I will
> 
> [9:43 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** I have an early start tomorrow so I have to go to bed
> 
> [9:43 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Good night Sokka
> 
> night! [9:43 pm]
> 
> dont let the bed bugs bite [9:44 pm]
> 
> [9:44 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** I’ll do my best

Sokka flops backwards onto his bed, phone still in hand. He rereads the conversation a few more times, just to make sure he’s not imagining things, and then laughs incredulously up at the ceiling, letting his arm fall to the side. His heart is fluttering happily in his chest.

Katara was right. Looks like he didn’t mess anything up after all.

—

A few days later, Sokka is back to thinking that he definitely, one hundred percent messed things up, and that Zuko was just being nice to spare his feelings. Zuko hasn’t texted him back to let him know when he’s available, and he’s gone from excited to disappointed to downright cranky. He glares at his reflection the mirror as he buttons up his dress shirt, trying to convince himself that it’s fine, he didn’t even like Zuko that much, anyways.

It’s not working very well.

“Do we really have to go see a stupid play?” he grumbles, wrestling with a particularly stubborn button. “Couldn’t we have gotten tickets to Earth Rumble VI or something instead?”

“Quit whining,” Katara says, reaching past him for her mascara. “Just because you’re uncultured doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “Excuse me if I don’t want to watch some actors in shitty stage makeup dramatically monologue at each other for two and a half hours.”

“Are you kids almost ready?” calls Hakoda from downstairs. “Bato is already waiting in the car.”

“Just a minute!” Sokka hollers. At a normal volume, he says, “Have you seen my hair tie?”

Katara slides it over to him without looking away from where she’s doing her makeup in the mirror.

Sokka quickly ties up his hair, smoothing away the flyaway strands with a touch of pomade. Then he double-checks his reflection, decides that there’s nothing he can do about the permanently sour expression on his face, and heads downstairs.

“Where’s your sister?” Hakoda says. He’s leaning against the couch with his arms crossed, tapping his fingers impatiently.

“Right here,” Katara says, hopping down the last few steps with a loud _thump._

Hakoda shoots her a reprimanding look—Katara grins sheepishly—and then turns to lead the way out of the door.

“Let’s go,” he says. “We want to find a good parking spot before it gets too crowded.”

The drive to the theatre is uneventful. Sokka leans his head against the window and stares apathetically at the passing scenery as Bato hums along to the radio, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. He refuses to look at his phone, shoved deep into his pocket—he knows that if he does, he’ll just spend the entire ride staring miserably at his conversation with Zuko, rereading it over and over to try to find any hint of insincerity in Zuko’s messages.

By the time they park and find their seats, the theatre is starting to fill steadily with spectators, the hubbub of conversation filling the air. Sokka sits slumped in his seat with his arms crossed, glaring at nothing in particular, when Katara flops down next to him and slaps a pamphlet into his chest.

“Quit manspreading,” she says, jostling his leg.

Sokka grumbles but closes his legs, and picks up the pamphlet to squint at it in the dim light of the theatre.

It’s a playbill. “Love Amongst the Dragons,” it reads. The cover image is of two dragons, their heads intertwined to form a heart. Sokka finds it horribly tacky.

“What is this?” he says. “Some sort of romance bullshit?”

Katara slaps his arm. “It’s not bullshit!” she hisses. “Spirits, what’s gotten into you? Why are you so grumpy?”

What a stupid question. Sokka hasn’t told her about the Zuko thing, but he’s sure that she can guess. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out, with the way that Sokka has been moping lately.

“I’m not grumpy,” Sokka grouses. “I just don’t like being forced to go see some dumb play. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“It’s a family outing,” Hakoda says pointedly from his other side. “You have to come whether you like it or not.”

Sokka’s frown deepens.

“Just give it a chance, Sokka,” says Bato. “Who knows, you might end up liking it.”

Sokka huffs. “Whatever.”

At that moment, the lights dim even further, and the din of the crowd begins to die down. A spotlight illuminates the closed curtains of the stage, and a woman steps out, her heels clacking loudly against the floor.

Sokka tunes her out as she gives a lengthy speech, something about the honour of putting this production together, thanking the audience, blah blah blah… He honestly couldn’t care less.

The sudden bout of applause from the audience follows her as she exits the stage, and then the entire theatre goes quiet, as if everyone is holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

After a few more suspenseful seconds, the curtains slide open with a sudden swell of music, and the play begins.

Sokka doesn’t pay much attention at first, too stubbornly caught up in his bad mood, but eventually he finds himself drawn in despite himself. It’s certainly nothing incredible—the costumes and set design are kind of garish, and the acting is very exaggerated and over the top—but it’s entertaining at least. Slowly but surely, he feels himself thawing, his ire melting away as he gets caught up in the story.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s holding his breath as the first act ends, with the Dragon Emperor waking up in his human form after being cursed by the Dark Water Spirit. He lets it out as the lights come up and looks over to find Katara grinning smugly back it him.

“So what did you think?” she says.

“It was fine,” Sokka mumbles. She raises an eyebrow at him, and he crosses his arms. “I mean, it was no Earth Rumble VI, obviously.”

She rolls her eyes. “Obviously,” she says sarcastically.

They make their way into the foyer for the intermission. There are people milling about everywhere, and they have to push their way through the crowds to get to the line for the concession.

“Your dad and I are going to go look at the merchandise,” Bato says, and he leads Hakoda away, leaving Katara and Sokka on their own.

Katara leans in closer to him and pitches her voice lower, whispering conspiratorially. “You know, it’s okay if you liked it. You don’t have to lie to me.”

Sokka shoves her away with an annoyed huff. “I’m not lying! I said it was _fine.”_

“Just fine?”

“Yes!” he snaps.

She laughs, and then her attention seems to catch on something over his shoulder, her eyes widening.

“What?” Sokka says, turning to look.

Katara grabs him by the shoulder and forces him to face her. “Don’t turn around,” she hisses. “But I think Zuko’s here.”

Sokka’s stomach drops down to his feet. “ _What?_ ”

“He’s with this old guy, over by the coat check. You can look, but try to not be too obvious _.”_

Sokka slowly turns, trying to be as discreet as possible. It takes him a second to spot them through the throng, but eventually he sees them: Zuko and Uncle Iroh.

Zuko is wearing a burgundy button-down shirt and black slacks, a far cry from his usual style. Even so, Sokka can’t help but find him incredibly attractive, especially with his messy hair still loose and falling into his eyes. It sends a spike of longing lancing through him.

Zuko is smiling indulgently at something Uncle Iroh says. As Sokka watches, he turns, looks up—and catches Sokka’s eye from across the crowd.

Zuko’s eyes widen. Sokka feels his heart stop.

“Shit!” he hisses, ducking down out of sight and whipping around to face Katara.

“What?” Katara says, alarmed. “Did he see you?”

_“Yes!”_ Of course, of _course_ this had to happen to him. Why does the universe hate him so? “We have to get out of here.”

“Uh, I think it’s a little too late for that,” Katara says, standing on her toes and craning her neck to look over the crowd. She drops back to her feet. “He’s on his way here.”

_“What?”_

Sokka spends the next few seconds panicking internally—the last time he saw Zuko was on that _disastrous_ date, and then Zuko went and ghosted him, and Zuko probably thinks he’s such a weirdo, and oh sweet spirits it feels like his heart is going to beat out of his _chest—_

“Sokka?” Zuko says from behind him. He sounds so hopeful. Sokka kind of wants to die.

He straightens and whirls around to face Zuko. He is fully unprepared for how close Zuko is, and he stumbles back a step before they can smash their foreheads together.

“Zuko!” he stutters, his mouth gone dry. Spirits, he’d forgotten how pretty he is up close—but now, in his dress clothes, he looks absolutely _devastating._ “I didn’t see you there!”

He can see Katara trying to inch away out of the corner of his eye, and he grabs her by the wrist before she can get too far. Her face screws up in pain, but he refuses to feel guilty. She will _not_ abandon him in his time of need.

“Oh.” Zuko seems to deflate a bit at his words. _That_ manages to make Sokka feel guilty, and he scrambles to recover.

“I mean, um. Not that I’m not happy to see you? I’m just, um. Surprised, is all.” He cringes inwardly. Why do words always seem to fail him when Zuko is around?

He can see Katara shaking her head in disappointment. He tightens his grip on her arm, and she winces, then schools her face back into neutrality.

“Oh. Sorry. It’s, uh, good to see you,” Zuko says, fidgeting.

Sokka scrutinizes him, trying to detect even a shred of sarcasm or dishonesty.

“…You too,” Sokka says finally, finding none. Zuko seems genuine, if a little uncomfortable, but that’s probably to be expected after…last time. “You know, I was waiting for you to text me back.”

Zuko’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit,” he breathes. “I completely forgot.”

“You…forgot.”

“I did. I’m so sorry.” Zuko runs a hand through his hair, looking distressed. “Work has been so crazy lately, I just started a back piece on someone, and a sleeve on someone else, and I’ve been squeezing in touch-ups between all my appointments too.” He lets out a long breath, and makes eye contact with Sokka, his face open and earnest. “I’m really sorry, Sokka. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

“Oh…” Sokka says, all the backed up hurt and resentment draining out of him. He feels strangely hollow without it…and a little stupid, too. “That’s okay. I…probably should have thought of that, before jumping to conclusions.”

“Did you…think I was ignoring you on purpose?”

Sokka scuffs his shoe against the floor, unable to meet Zuko’s eye. “…Maybe.”

A pair of hands suddenly descends on Zuko’s shoulders from behind, making him flinch violently. Uncle Iroh’s face appears over his shoulder.

“I apologize, Zuko, I did not mean to startle you,” Uncle Iroh says. “But you just ran off without a word, and I could not find you in the crowd. I thought I had lost you!”

Zuko swallows, and gently removes Uncle Iroh’s hands from his shoulders. Sokka catches the way Zuko’s hands are trembling before he shoves them in his pockets, but doesn’t comment on it.

“Sorry, Uncle,” he says. His voice wavers, and he ducks his head and clears his throat. “I just came over to see Sokka.”

“Ah, Sokka!” Uncle Iroh says, giving him a friendly bow. “It is good to see you again. I was hoping you would stop by the shop again; you made quite the impression on Aang and Toph. And on Zuko, of course!” He guffaws.

“Nice to see you too,” Sokka says with a sheepish chuckle. “And I, uh, didn’t realize I was welcome. I don’t really have plans for any other tattoos or piercings.”

“Of course you are welcome! Come visit whenever you like; I will make you some tea.” He turns to Katara. “And who is this young lady? I do not believe we have met before.”

“Oh!” Sokka hastily lets go of her arm. “This is Katara, my sister.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” she says, stepping forward and giving him a polite bow. “You’re Zuko’s uncle?”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Uncle Iroh replies, and they devolve into polite conversation.

Sokka catches Zuko’s eye over their heads. He still looks a little shaken. Sokka wants to ask if he’s okay, but isn’t sure if it’s his place to do so. They’re still practically strangers.

Well, maybe more than strangers, after their date. But certainly not friends.

Yet.

“I’m going to go find Dad and Bato,” Katara says to Sokka. “Will you get me some lychee juice?”

“What? Oh, sure,” Sokka says, remembering too late that she was supposed to be his moral support.

“Great, thanks! See you guys,” she says, and then disappears into the crowd—but not before shooting Sokka a significant look.

Sokka is left standing there with Zuko and Uncle Iroh, feeling stranded. He shuffles awkwardly from foot to foot.

Uncle Iroh clears his throat. “I believe I will go find the restrooms, before the intermission is over. I hear that the second act is quite long.” And then he disappears too, moving surprisingly fast for someone his age.

Sokka looks nervously at Zuko, his stomach already tying itself up in knots at the prospect of being alone together. Zuko is staring distractedly at the space that Uncle Iroh just vacated, his hand still buried deep in his pockets.

Concern rises up in Sokka once more, and he’s opening his mouth before he can think better of it.

“Hey,” Sokka says softly. “You okay?”

Zuko turns and blinks at him. “What? Oh, yeah, sorry.” He shakes his head and pulls his hands out of his pockets; they’re steady now. “I was just, um. Distracted.”

_Are you sure?_ Sokka wants to ask, but holds his tongue. _Not friends,_ he reminds himself.

Zuko already looks a lot better, anyways. His eyes are clear, and he’s giving Sokka that little smile that he’s so weak for.

Sokka’s nerves are back in full force, now. He fumbles for something to say before the silence that stretches between them can become _too_ awkward.

“So, um, what did you think of the play?” he says. He figures that’s a safe topic to start with.

But then Zuko sucks in a sharp breath, his face twisting up with distaste, and Sokka thinks that maybe he miscalculated.

“It’s a complete mess!” Zuko exclaims, a little too loudly, given the judgemental glances from the people around them. He doesn’t seem to notice, and continues on, unimpeded. “I don’t know why Uncle always insists we come see _Love Amongst the Dragons_ here every year, the Ember Island Players _always_ butcher it.”

Sokka blinks at him, surprised by his vehemence, and then lets out a surprised laugh. “I didn’t realize you had such strong opinions on theatre.”

Zuko blushes and ducks his head. “It’s, um. An interest of mine.” He chuckles a little, self-conscious.

Huh. Sokka never would have pinned cool, sexy, tattoo artist Zuko as a _theatre nerd_ , but for some reason that knowledge just makes him even more endearing. Sokka grins and tilts his head.

“You know, I don’t mind if you rip it to shreds. I thought it was fine, but I don’t know anything about this kind of stuff. I’d like to hear your more nuanced take on it.”

Zuko bites his lip. “Are you sure? I can get like…really into it.”

“Yeah! Consider this a lesson in theatre, for me.” Sokka abruptly realizes that they’re at the front of the concession line, and he shoots Zuko an apologetic grin. “Just, give me a second first.”

He gets Katara’s lychee juice and a small bag of chocolates for himself. At the last second, he decides to get a coffee for Hakoda—his dad can barely stay awake through an entire movie, there’s no way that he’s going to make it through the second act.

“Okay,” Sokka says, a cup in each hand and the chocolates tucked under his arm. “I just have to give these to my family first, but then we can find a place to talk?”

“Sure,” Zuko says.

Sokka leads the way through the crowd, careful not to spill either of the drinks. Zuko stays close behind him, and he swears that he feels a light touch against his back once or twice, but he keeps his mouth resolutely shut. He worries that if he says anything, Zuko will stop.

They find Katara, Hakoda, and Bato at the merchandise stand, admiring the all little knick-knacks and t-shirts.

“Sokka!” Katara says, spotting him over Bato’s shoulder. “What do you think of this?” She holds up a cheap plastic version of the Dark Water Spirit’s mask.

“It’s cool, I guess,” he says, handing her the lychee juice. “Here, Dad, I got you a coffee.”

Bato laughs loudly at that. “You know your old man well, huh?”

Hakoda shoots Bato a scathing look, but accepts the cup from Sokka. “Thank you, son.” He seems to suddenly notice Zuko, hovering awkwardly behind Sokka. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, uh, hello,” Zuko says, giving a little wave. “Zuko here.”

“Zuko’s the one who did my tattoo for me,” Sokka explains. “We just ran into each other here.”

Bato looks impressed. “You did a great job on Sokka’s tattoo. It looks fantastic.”

“Oh!” Zuko blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “Thank you.”

Hakoda nods in agreement. “Although it _would_ have been nice if Sokka had told us beforehand that he was going to get ‘inked up’.”

“ _Daaad,”_ Sokka whines. “Can you please stop bringing that up?”

Bato chuckles and puts his arm around Hakoda’s shoulder, leading him away from them and towards a shelf full of ugly coffee mugs.

Sokka turns to Zuko, apologetic. “Sorry about that. My dads can be…kind of weird, sometimes.”

“It’s okay.” Zuko smiles. “They seem nice.” His eyes suddenly zero in on the mask in Katara’s hand, and he steps past Sokka to take a closer look at it. “Is that supposed to be a Water Spirit mask?” he says to Katara.

“Um. Yeah?” she says.

Zuko scoffs and shakes his head. “That’s not what it’s supposed to look like at all. Don’t buy it, it’s a waste of money.”

Katara frowns at him, looking suddenly annoyed. “Oh, and how do you know what it’s supposed to look like?”

Zuko flushes in embarrassment. “I, uh. I have one at home. An authentic one.”

“Oh.” Katara lowers the mask, disappointed. “Well. I guess I can get something else, then.”

Sokka grabs Zuko by the arm. As much as he likes observing this awkward, stilted conversation between Katara and Zuko, he would much rather have an awkward, stilted conversation with Zuko himself.

“Those scarves over there look nice,” he says, pointing to the wall behind Katara. When Katara turns to look, he drags Zuko back into the crowd. They’re swallowed up instantly.

“Sorry,” he says, dropping Zuko’s arm, much to his chagrin. His skin is so _warm._ “I just wanted to get out of there before she made us help her pick something else out.”

“It’s okay,” Zuko says. His cheeks are a little pink. Sokka wants so badly to cup them in his hands. “I, uh, know a good spot, if you still want to talk for a bit.”

“Of course!” Sokka says. “Lead the way.”

Zuko hesitates for a second, and then he grabs Sokka gently by the wrist and pulls him through the crowd. Sokka feels his entire face go hot, and does his best to not trip over his own feet as they weave around people, distracted as he is by Zuko.

The crowd starts to thin out a bit as they approach an unobtrusive-looking door, hidden in a far corner of the foyer. It sticks a bit when Zuko pushes against it, but then swings violently open, the cool evening air rushing in. Zuko leads him outside, and the door slams shut behind them with a _bang._

They’re on a balcony, overlooking the water. Palm trees sway lethargically below them, and the setting sun glints off the masses of parked cars. The wind coming in off the ocean is cool and refreshing. There is nobody else around.

“It’s a smoking area, but nobody really uses it,” Zuko says.

“It’s perfect,” Sokka says. He goes to lean out against the railing, the wind ruffling his hair and pulling a few strands free. Zuko joins him, but leaves a foot of space between them. Sokka tries not to feel disappointed.

“Want a chocolate?” Sokka says, pulling the bag out from under his arm.

“Sure,” Zuko says.

Sokka tears open the bag and peers into it. “Oh. I think they’re kind of melted. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” Zuko says, and reaches into the bag when Sokka proffers it.

Sokka tries not to stare too blatantly when Zuko pops the candy into his mouth, and then licks the melted chocolate off his fingers. Fuck. He wonders what it would be like to have Zuko lick the chocolate off _his_ fingers for him…

And then he mentally dumps a bucket of ice water on himself. _Bad Sokka._ Get your head out of the gutter.

“So.” Sokka clears his throat, trying to get his thoughts under control. “Tell me all your thoughts on the play. Feel free to be as harsh and critical as you want.”

Zuko grins a little at him. “That’s a dangerous thing to say.”

“I mean it.” Sokka pops a chocolate into his mouth. “Hit me. And spare no detail. I’m here to be educated.”

Zuko takes a deep breath. Sokka braces himself.

It’s like a dam has been broken. Zuko starts talking, and does not stop. He criticizes everything, from the makeup, to the lighting, to the plot itself.

(“And if they’re going to get everything else wrong, they could at _least_ get the story right, since the book is literally _right there._ But _no,_ they had to find a way to mess that up too!”)

Sokka watches him the entire time, a fond smile on his lips. He leans his elbow on the railing and props his cheek against his fist, content to watch Zuko rant passionately about everything that the Ember Island Players managed to fuck up. His heart feels like it’s grown three sizes in his chest.

Zuko’s skin is practically glowing in the light of the setting sun. Sokka wants so badly that it _aches._

Eventually, Zuko lets out a long breath and slumps back against the railing, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He seems like he’s tired himself out. Sokka is captivated by the long line of his throat, the way that it bobs when he swallows.

“Sorry,” Zuko says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I told you I get really into it.”

“I don’t mind,” Sokka says, mortifyingly honest. “I like hearing you talk.”

Zuko looks at him then, and then quickly turns away. The tips of his ears are very red. Sokka feels his own face burn at his admission.

Zuko clears his throat. “We should head back. Intermission is probably ending soon.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Sokka says, crestfallen. He really doesn’t want to leave.

Just then, his phone buzzes with a notification.

> [8:56 pm] **katawa:** where are you?????
> 
> [8:56 pm] **katawa:** its starting again

“Oh, shit,” Sokka says. “I think act two is starting right now.” They must have missed the announcement that intermission was ending.

Zuko strides over to the door and gives it a yank. It doesn’t budge.

“Um,” he says.

Sokka joins him and tries the door himself. No dice.

“Should we knock?” he says.

“There won’t be anybody in the foyer by now,” Zuko says.

“Shit.”

“I mean…” Zuko starts. Sokka turns to face him; he looks embarrassed. “It’s not like you’re missing much, anyways. I could just tell you what happens, if you wanted.”

“That’s always an option,” Sokka says, nodding slowly. “And it _is_ a pretty nice night out…”

Zuko grins at him. Sokka feels like he’s just won a trophy.

> im not coming back [8:58 pm]
> 
> ill meet u guys after [8:58 pm]
> 
> [8:59 pm] **katawa:** smh
> 
> [8:59 pm] **katawa:** is this because of zuko?
> 
> [8:59 pm] **katawa:** you are sooooo whipped

They return to the the railing. Sokka notices that Zuko has moved a little closer this time. They’re still not touching, but it’s a definite improvement, and it has his entire body practically humming with excitement.

They talk as the sun begins to sink below the horizon. They spend a minimal amount of time on _Love Amongst the Dragons;_ Zuko seems to have exhausted himself on that topic. Instead, Sokka tells Zuko about his studies in mechanical engineering; Zuko in turn tells him more about his work.

Eventually, once the sun has completely disappeared and the chill of the night sets in, they move to sit against the wall, pressed together from shoulder to hip, heads tilted towards each other as they talk in hushed voices. Zuko is a line of pure heat against Sokka’s side, and he so badly wants to burrow into it.

He doesn’t, though. He finally feels as if he’s gotten something right, and he’s in no rush to ruin it.

They don’t stop talking until the play is over and they’re interrupted by Katara banging the door to the balcony open—but even then, Sokka thinks that he could have gone on forever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Suki gives him an exaggerated pout—it is thankfully not as effective as Zuko’s. “Are you really so busy with your new boy toy that you couldn’t stop by for a bit?”  
> _
> 
> _“Um, kind of?” Sokka says. “And—_ hey _, he’s not my boy toy!”_
> 
> — 
> 
> Sokka swears up and down that he and Zuko are just friends.

They’re friends now.

After Uncle Iroh’s open invitation, Sokka begins to stop by The Jasmine Dragon more and more often. Sometimes Zuko is busy working on a client, and sometimes he’s just idly doodling designs in his sketchbook. Sometimes he’s not there at all, but Sokka still sticks around and chats amicably with Toph and Aang—he gets along with them surprisingly well. Sometimes he even brings Katara with him, and he delights in watching Aang devolve into a moony-eyed mess.

Of course, it’s best when Zuko is there. He’s the whole reason Sokka even comes to The Jasmine Dragon, after all.

If Zuko is busy with a client, Sokka will sit quietly in a corner or in the waiting room and play games on his phone until he’s not. If Zuko isn’t busy, Sokka will sit at Zuko’s station and wheedle him until Zuko shows him the designs he’s working on. Then they’ll talk, and hang out, and kill time together until Zuko’s next appointment.

Sometimes they’ll go out for lunch on the boardwalk, and sometimes Sokka brings in steaming styrofoam containers of takeout for them to share and for Toph to steal bites of. Sokka has even taken to sneaking in coffees past Uncle Iroh for Zuko. Uncle Iroh’s tea is great, of course—Sokka will forever describe his first time trying it as “eye-opening” as well as “mind-blowing”—but Zuko admitted once, shamefully, that he has a secret weakness for coffee, and Sokka can’t help but indulge him.

(Sokka can say that it’s out of generosity all he wants, but even he has to admit that there’s a very selfish reasoning behind it too: the way Zuko looks at him when he pulls the coffee out from behind his back, like Sokka is the single best thing he’s ever laid eyes on, would probably make Sokka do anything short of murder, and even then he’s not too sure.)

And well, that’s just the thing, isn’t it? They’re friends—great friends, even. Sokka can’t remember the last time he just _clicked_ with someone like this—barring their first few awkward encounters, of course.

But there’s always that undercurrent of something…else. Something more. They haven’t really spoken about their singular date beyond the occasional joke at Sokka’s expense, and Sokka hasn’t asked Zuko out again. Sokka doesn’t bring it up, because he doesn’t want to ruin this perfect, fragile balance that they’ve managed to strike, but…he wanted Zuko before, and he still wants him now, even if he’s gotten better at hiding it.

He wants Zuko’s laugh, and Zuko’s smile, and Zuko’s dry, deadpan sense of humour. Wants Zuko’s hands in his, and Zuko’s lips on his, and Zuko’s skin against his own. He wants _Zuko,_ full stop—wants so badly that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, sometimes.

Sokka has thought about just leaning in and kissing Zuko in the middle of a conversation more than once. He’s imagined it to the point of driving himself crazy, has mapped out every possible reaction, from flat out rejection to Zuko tearing Sokka’s clothes off right then and there. He’s done the math, and he’s almost sixty percent sure that Zuko’s reaction if he actually did it would be positive.

He never does, though. Kiss him, that is.

Because the thing is that Sokka and Zuko are friends. They’re _really_ good friends, and Sokka doesn’t want to ruin one of the best friendships he’s ever had on the off chance of something more.

Sokka has convinced himself that it’s fine, that he can’t have Zuko like _that._ Because it is! It really is. What they have right now—it’s easy, the way it hadn’t been when Sokka had been trying to pursue Zuko romantically. And Sokka doesn’t want to overcomplicate things. He’s happy with what they have—friendship with Zuko is better than nothing at all.

Except that there are times when things are…less easy. Not _worse,_ exactly, but less clear-cut. A bit more complicated than Sokka would like.

Like when Zuko lets his fingers linger a little too long when Sokka hands him his coffee. Or when Sokka will catch Zuko’s eyes darting down to his lips, just for a second, while they’re talking. Or when they’re chatting quietly in the corner of the studio, trying not to disturb Aang and Toph, and they’ll lean in just a little too close, and it’ll be just a second too long before either of them leans away…

It feels precarious, like Sokka is standing just on the edge of something, and all it would take is a strong breeze to push him over.

It’s at times like these that Sokka wants to just risk it all—say _fuck it_ and grab Zuko by the front of his shirt and kiss him until they’re both breathless and stupid with it. But he doesn’t. He never does, because they’re friends now.

_Just_ friends.

—

“I don’t believe you.”

“What, you don’t think I could fight a sabre-tooth moose-lion and win?”

“Not even a little.”

“Okay.” Sokka takes a sip of his boba. “What if I told you it was a baby sabre-tooth moose-lion?”

Zuko side-eyes him as they walk, sipping at his own boba. “I still doubt it.”

“Oh, c _ome on!_ ” Sokka shoves him, and Zuko stumbles away, laughing. “Not even a _baby?”_

Zuko steps back towards Sokka and jostles him with his shoulder, his eyes crinkled up into a smile. “I’m joking. I’m sure you could beat a baby in a fight.”

“ _Thank_ you!” Sokka exclaims. There’s a lady walking in the opposite direction who shoots them a weird look, no doubt having overheard only the tail-end of their conversation. “Toph didn’t think I could, even though I was telling her the truth!”

“Hmm.” Zuko eyes him critically, in a way that makes Sokka feel uncomfortably seen. “Was it the _whole_ truth?”

“Okay,” Sokka admits, “I _might_ have left out some crucial information, but that doesn’t matter! The point is that I fought a sabre-tooth moose-lion—fine, a _baby_ sabre-tooth moose-lion—and won!”

“And…what would this crucial information be?”

Sokka turns his nose up. “That’s classified.”

He can see Zuko pouting at him out of the corner of his eye, and steadfastly turns his head in the other direction. He’s weak to that pout, and Zuko knows it.

“Don’t look at me like that! I said it’s classified.” Sokka shakes his head dramatically. “If the government finds out that I told you…man, you don’t even wanna know.”

“The government doesn’t have to find out,” Zuko says, mock-seriously. “I’m great at keeping secrets.”

Sokka appraises him out of the corner of his eye. He’s got that wide-eyed, guileless expression on his face, the ocean breeze tousling his messy hair, and the midday sun illuminates him in such an unfairly flattering way that it _has_ to have something to do with him being a firebender, and _ah fuck_ , Sokka already knows that he’s going to tell him.

Curse Zuko and his stupid pouty face.

Sokka huffs dramatically and takes a long sip of his boba, chewing the pearls at length in an effort to prolong the moment before his shame. He can feel Zuko’s expectant gaze on him.

“Fine. But you _can’t tell anyone._ ” Zuko nods, and Sokka looks down at the ground, kicking at a stray rock in his path and sending it skittering across the pavement. “So…the mom may have showed up after.”

He hears Zuko suck in a sharp breath.

“And…” Sokka braces himself. “I…may have peed my pants a little.”

Zuko laughs incredulously. “I’m sorry, you _peed your pants?”_

_“Shut up!”_ Sokka wails, his face burning. Why did he think that telling Zuko this would be a good idea? Oh right, he didn’t—he’s just dumb and weak to Zuko’s face. “I was thirteen, okay? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same thing if you were being _charged by an angry sabre-tooth moose-lion!”_

“I never said I wouldn’t,” Zuko says, biting at his lip to stifle a smile. “If it makes you feel any better, a turtle-duck bit me when I was a kid and I cried for about three hours afterwards.”

Sokka sniffs. “Not really.” It actually kind of does—the mental image of Zuko getting bitten by a _turtle-duck_ is a pretty good one—but Zuko doesn’t need to know that.

Sokka slurps up the last of his boba—steadfastly chasing down a few stray pearls at the bottom of the cup—and then jogs ahead to toss it into a nearby garbage can. He’s making his way back towards Zuko when something makes him freeze mid-stride, and he tilts his head to the side, frowning. He _swears_ he just heard someone call his name…

“ _Sokka!_ ” There it is again.

He turns back towards the beach, shielding his eyes against the glare of the water, and squints out across the sand.

There’s a figure in the distance, waving enthusiastically in his direction. Sokka squints harder. Is that…

He gasps.

“ _SUKI!”_ he cries, and takes off at a sprint.

There’s a confused, “Sokka, what—” from behind him, and Sokka briefly feels bad about leaving Zuko behind, but then he launches himself at Suki in a flurry of sand, and all thoughts of Zuko fly momentarily out the window.

“Sokka!” she yelps, laughing hysterically as he careens into her arms, nearly knocking the both of them off their feet.

“Suki!” Sokka wraps her up in a bear hug and lifts her a few inches off the ground. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! I’ve missed you!”

“Put me _down_ , Sokka, you goon!” she giggles, wriggling in his grip. He obeys, and she shoves playfully at his shoulder as soon as her feet are back on the ground. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you to come to the beach, but you never show up.”

“Oh.” Sokka grins sheepishly. “Zuko said I’m supposed to keep my tattoo out of the sun for two weeks, so I’ve been kind of keeping a low profile.” He rolls up his sleeve—ugh, what he wouldn’t give to be wearing a tank top right now—to show her.

She leans in closer and raises her eyebrows, looking impressed. “Looks good. But you could’ve at least stopped by to say hi or something, dumbass. It’s so boring out here.”

“Saving people’s lives is _boring?”_

“There’s really not as much life-saving going on as you’d think.” She gives him an exaggerated pout—it is thankfully not as effective as Zuko’s. “Are you really so busy with your new boy toy that you couldn’t stop by for a bit?”

“Um, kind of?” Sokka says. “And— _hey_ , he’s not my boy toy!”

Her gaze slides away from his face and lands on something over his shoulder, and she gasps. “Kyoshi’s fans, is that him?”

Sokka twists around to see Zuko gingerly picking his way across the sand towards them. They lock eyes; Zuko raises his arms in that universal _what the fuck_ gesture, and Sokka makes an apologetic face in return.

“Yeah, that’s him,” he says to Suki. They watch, side by side, as Zuko nearly trips over a child that sprints suddenly across his path. “We’re just friends though, I swear.”

Suki hums; Sokka stubbornly ignores the knowing look that she’s giving him. “If you say so.”

“I do say so.” He inhales sharply and narrows his eyes at her. “And you better not say anything to him about that, either.”

“Relax,” she says, nudging him with her shoulder. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.” He pulls her into a one-armed hug and leans his cheek against her hair. “I just get stressed out around him, sometimes.”

“Yeah, I can see why,” she laughs. “You weren’t kidding about him being hot.”

“ _Right?_ He’s so fucking—oh, shit. Hey, Zuko!” Sokka drops his arm from around Suki’s shoulder and takes a half-step away from her.

“Hey,” Zuko says awkwardly. No longer distracted by Suki, Sokka’s guilt over abandoning Zuko returns all at once.

“Sorry about running off like that,” Sokka says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I just saw Suki and got really excited ‘cause I haven’t seen her in like, ever, and, well…”

“It’s okay,” Zuko says. He fiddles absently with the straw of his empty boba cup, avoiding Sokka’s eyes.

Hm. Is it just Sokka, or did the atmosphere just become like, ten times more uncomfortable?

Sokka flails for something to say. “Um, you guys don’t know each other, right? Zuko, this is Suki. Suki, this is Zuko.”

“Nice to meet you,” Suki says with an easy grin, seemingly unfazed by the sudden tension in the air. “Sokka’s told me a bit about you.”

“Oh.” Zuko blinks, and then gives her a clumsy half-bow. “Uh, nice to meet you too.”

Sokka bites his lip. He will _not_ laugh at Zuko’s bumbling formality, even if it is kind of adorable.

“Right.” Sokka clears his throat. “Um, anyways, I didn’t mean to get so distracted. We were gonna go get lunch before Zuko has to be back at the shop, so we should probably,” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, “go.”

“It’s okay,” Zuko says quickly. “You can stay here if you want. I’ll just go by myself.”

Sokka frowns at him. “What? No. I’m the one who practically forced you to come get lunch with me, of course I’m coming.”

“But…” Zuko gestures vaguely in Suki’s direction.

“I can come hang out with Suki another time; she doesn’t mind. Right, Suki?”

Suki nods and gently pushes Sokka in Zuko’s direction. “You boys go have fun. I’m technically on the clock, anyways.” She shoots Sokka a dark look. “It better not be another two weeks before you come back to see me, though.”

Sokka puts his hands up defensively. “Okay, okay! I promise. Pinky swear, even.” He holds out his pinky. Suki wraps hers around his, and then suddenly yanks him back towards her. He stumbles forwards, caught off guard, and she leans in to whisper in his ear.

“There is no way that you two are just friends,” she says lowly, and then she puts her hands on Sokka’s chest and pushes him away. Sokka nearly falls over— _spirits,_ she’s strong—but Zuko steadies him from behind.

“I—what’s that supposed to mean?” Sokka splutters, hoping that his outrage will cover up the way his brain nearly short circuits at the feeling of Zuko’s hand on the small of his back.

Suki smiles, sly. “Nothing.”

Sokka glares. “You’re the worst.”

“Love you, too.”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “Come on, Zuko.”

Suki gives them a cheerful wave as they turn to trudge their way back up the beach. Zuko is strangely quiet as they walk, his gaze trained unerringly on his feet; Sokka shoots a few questioning looks in his direction, trying to gauge what he’s feeling.

Did he not like Suki? Sure, she can be a little intimidating at times, but she was nothing but friendly towards Zuko.

Is he embarrassed about how awkward he was? Zuko might not be the most naturally charming person—well, except to Sokka—but Suki didn’t seem to mind it.

Maybe he’s still upset about Sokka ditching him?

“Again, I’m really sorry about that,” Sokka says once they’re back at the boardwalk. “I shouldn’t have just run off without you like that.”

“It’s okay, Sokka,” Zuko says. He meets Sokka’s eye for a second, but his gaze quickly skitters away. “I’m not mad.”

Sokka lets out a breath. He’s not convinced, but he won’t press it.

The walk to the noodle shop is spent mostly in silence. Sokka’s attempts at conversation are met with half-hearted replies or wordless hums, so eventually he stops trying altogether. He silently mourns their easy, comfortable banter from earlier.

Narook’s is filled to bursting with customers from the lunchtime rush, so they take their orders to go—seaweed noodles with extra meat for Sokka, and something so spicy that the broth is a dangerous shade of red for Zuko—and wander around until they can find a place to eat that’s out of the sun.

They settle down on a bench in the shade of a large palm tree. Sokka immediately tucks in with gusto—Narook’s may be a chain restaurant, but they never skimp out on quality—and is halfway through his bowl before he realizes that Zuko has barely touched his own.

Sokka wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and tries for a joke. “You finally realize that eating food that spicy isn’t actually gonna give you the power to breathe fire?”

“I can already breathe fire,” Zuko says absently, poking at his noodles with his chopsticks, and if Sokka had any food in his mouth he would have promptly choked on it. Zuko can breathe _fire?_ Spirits help Sokka.

“Right. Of course. Silly me.” Sokka forces himself to think strictly platonic thoughts. “Are you just not hungry then, or…?”

“Oh.” Zuko blinks down at his bowl, looking surprised to find it full. “No. I’m just…thinking. Sorry.” As if to prove a point, he takes a comically large mouthful of noodles, his cheeks bulging in a way that should be gross but that Sokka can’t help but find endearing.

“Mhm.” Sokka shoves a bunch of noodles into his mouth before he can go and say something embarrassing. “About anything in particular?” he says once he’s sure that his brain-to-mouth filter is once again functional.

“Um.” Zuko hesitates. He seems fixated on a bright red piece of komodo-chicken floating around his bowl. “Not really. Just, um…you and Suki?”

Ah. So it _was_ about Suki. “…What about us?”

“You guys seem…close.”

“Oh, yeah. We’ve known each other for years.” Sokka pops a piece of meat into his mouth—very gamey, must be koala-sheep or something. “We go _way_ back.”

Zuko seems to shrink a bit, hunching further over his bowl. “Right. Um, that’s nice. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah…” Sokka frowns at him, confused. Is he missing something?

“So, uh. Have you guys always been, um, together?”

Wait a second, _what?_

“What?” Sokka says.

Zuko looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Um. You know. Like, dating?”

An incredulous laugh bubbles out of Sokka’s chest. “Suki and I aren’t dating.”

“What?” Zuko gapes at him. “But…you two…”

“That’s just how we always are.” Sokka shakes his head, disbelieving. “Did you really think we were dating?”

“Um. Yes?” Zuko says, his voice small.

“Zuko. We’re just good friends, I swear.” Sokka laughs again, this time fondly. “I mean, we did try dating once a couple years back, but we both decided that we were better off as friends. And we are.”

“Oh.” Zuko seems…dazed. “That’s…good.”

Sokka’s heart gives a violent lurch. “Good?”

“I mean, um, not _good_ ,” Zuko says quickly. His face has gone very red. “Well, I mean, like, not good that you dating didn’t work out but, uh. It’s good that you’re still friends?”

Sokka’s can feel his heart pounding in his chest. It’s getting very hard to think strictly platonic thoughts. He watches, half hysterical, as Zuko practically shoves his face back into his bowl, inhaling his noodles at an inhuman speed.

“Yeah…” Sokka clears his throat. “I see you have your appetite back. Feeling better?”

“Hm?” Zuko looks at Sokka, then back down at his noodles. He swallows his mouthful and grins a little, sheepish. “Oh. Yeah, I guess so.”

Sokka firmly does not think about what that implies and how it makes him feel.

“Good,” he says, and turns back to his own bowl. His stomach is twisted up into so many knots that finishing his noodles is a struggle—but wasting food is for quitters, and Sokka is _not_ a quitter.

The walk back to the tattoo shop is filled with casual chatter once again. Zuko indulges him with the story of how he got bitten by a turtle-duck—and _wow,_ younger Zuko was kind of a dick—and then proceeds to tell him, in great detail, about every single turtle-duck that lived in the pond near his childhood home. Sokka just listens, hopelessly fond—he thinks that Zuko could talk his ear off about filing taxes and Sokka would still hang off his every word.

They pass Suki again on their way back, and they wave at each other from afar. Sokka remembers the way she pulled him close and whispered into his ear, like she was sharing a secret that Zuko wasn’t meant to hear.

_There is no way that you two are just friends._

Sokka wants to object on principle, because of _course_ they’re just friends. Good friends, yes, but nothing more than that.

But maybe…maybe Suki has a point.

Because _just friends_ don’t react like _that_ when they think that the other person is dating someone, right?

_Right?_

—

You’d think that after spending every summer on Ember Island since he was about ten years old, Sokka would’ve learned by now that you can never, ever trust the weather here.

The sky had been deceptively blue when he’d set out for the grocery store on his skateboard. Hakoda and Bato had left them alone for the evening, taking the car with them, and Katara had insisted that Sokka go pick something up so that she could cook them a weird, healthy dinner. And Sokka had said sure, why not, because it was nice out and he could use an excuse to go stretch his legs.

But now, with the rain coming down in a sudden, torrential downpour, Sokka has decided that he is never going to do anything for his sister ever again. Just look at where that got him!

It’s not even that the rain is cold—they’re on a tropical island, after all—but Sokka hates being wet on principle. His socks are starting to squelch disgustingly in his shoes, and he’s probably going to wipe out if he keeps trying to skateboard in the rain but he really wants to get home as fast as possible so that he can guilt Katara into waterbending him dry.

Sokka stops for a second to wipe the rain out of his eyes, and _shit,_ the sun is starting to set now, too. He always forgets that the days don’t last as long this close to the equator. He hikes his backpack up higher on his shoulders—the groceries are probably soaked by now, too—and picks up the pace. Skateboarding in the rain is already bad enough; skateboarding in the rain _at_ _night_ is practically asking to get hit by a car.

There’s the sudden glare of headlights from behind—way to speak that into existence, Sokka—and he quickly scoots to the side to let the car pass. He probably shouldn’t be skateboarding on the road anyways, but the sidewalks on Ember Island are notoriously bumpy, and he doesn’t want to risk an injury any more than he has to.

The car speeds past him, spraying him with a hefty dose of water in the process—which, thanks for that _—_ and then suddenly lurches to a stop a dozen feet in front of him, the taillights glowing bright red in the dim light. Sokka feels his stomach drop, and ice prickles along his veins—is he getting fucking _kidnapped_ now, on top of everything else?

Sokka slows down—is it worse if he tries to book it?—and eyes the car warily as the hazard lights begin to blink and the passenger side window rolls down.

“Sokka?” comes the driver’s voice, barely audible over the thundering rain. “Is that you?”

Sokka sucks in a sharp breath, his heart giving an almost painful _thump_. He’d know that voice anywhere. “Zuko?”

He hops off his skateboard and peers into the open window and, sure enough, there’s Zuko in the driver’s seat. He’s leaning over the centre console towards Sokka, his eyes wide and concerned. Sokka’s stomach twists in a funny way. He looks beautiful, as always.

Sokka, for his part, probably looks like a drowned rat-snake.

“What are you doing out here?” Zuko says, half-yelling to be heard over the rain.

Sokka wipes the water out of his eyes and shifts on his feet, his socks squelching in his shoes. “I’m just on my way home from the grocery store.” He jostles his bulging backpack for emphasis.

Zuko frowns. “Do you want a ride?”

“It’s okay, it’s not that far away. I’ll be fine.”

Zuko shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be skateboarding when it’s raining like this; it’s dangerous. Get in.”

“What? No, I’ll get your car all wet.”

“I don’t care.”

“Zuko—”

“Sokka,” Zuko says, his voice uncharacteristically firm. Sokka shuts his mouth so fast that his teeth click painfully together. “Get in.”

Sokka makes a show of rolling his eyes and sighing theatrically, but does as he’s told. The seat is a little wet from the rain coming in through the open window, but it doesn’t make much of a difference, since Sokka is pretty sure that he’s soaked all the way down to his underwear. He props his skateboard up between his legs and settles his backpack on his lap, shivering suddenly at the cold air coming through the car vents.

“Are you cold?” Zuko says, already turning down the air conditioning.

“I guess so,” Sokka says. “I didn’t even notice until I got in here.” He hunches in a little on himself, embarrassed. He’s from the _South Pole—_ a little tropical rain should be nothing!

Zuko watches him for a second, an unreadable look on his face, and then says, “Give me your hands.”

Sokka blinks, taken aback. “What?”

Instead of answering, Zuko reaches over and takes Sokka’s hands in his own. Sokka nearly gasps; Zuko’s hands are so _warm._ Sokka clutches them tighter without even meaning to.

“This, uh, might feel a little weird,” Zuko warns.

Sokka doesn’t even have time to ask him _what_ might feel a little weird before a sudden wave of warmth rushes up his arms, and he actually _does_ gasp this time, nearly jerking his hands out of Zuko’s grip. Is he—is Zuko _firebending him?_

He watches, wide-eyed, as Zuko closes his eyes in concentration and takes a deep breath, then slowly exhales. As he does so, that wave of heat travels even further up Sokka’s arms, all the way into his chest. It feels…weird, like Zuko said.

Weird, but also…unbelievably good, like Sokka is lying in a ray of warm sunshine, except that it’s warming him up from the _inside_. Zuko does it again, and Sokka sighs shakily, the heat traveling all the way into his bones. He feels—giddy, like he’s floating on the cloud, the warmth making his brain all happy and loopy.

After a few more breaths, Zuko gently pulls his hands away, and Sokka almost doesn’t let him go, wanting to hold onto that delicious heat for as long as possible.

“Is that better?” Zuko says, and Sokka blinks his eyes open to find Zuko watching him with a faint smile on his face.

“Um,” Sokka says. His voice sticks in his throat, and he coughs to clear it. “Yes, yeah. I feel, _wow_.” He laughs, still a little out of it. “I didn’t even know firebenders could _do_ that.”

Zuko’s smile grows, and he looks a little proud. “Not everyone knows how to do it. My uncle taught me.”

“It’s _amazing.”_ Sokka flexes his fingers a little, marvelling at how _good_ he feels. He’s warm all over, all the way down to his toes. Even his clothes are steaming. “I don’t even think Katara can do something that cool.”

Zuko’s cheeks go a little pink, and he ducks his head. “Thanks.”

He shifts the car back into gear, and they take off down the road, the windshield wipers beating rhythmically against the rain. Zuko lets Sokka plug his phone into the aux, and Sokka gives Zuko directions in between singing verses of _Secret Tunnel_ —a song Aang showed him last week that he hated at first, but that has since grown on him.

Sokka is almost disappointed when they pull up in front of his rented house not five minutes later—no, scratch that, he _is_ disappointed. He hadn’t expected to run into Zuko today, but now that he has, he doesn’t want him to leave. Sokka fiddles with the still-wet straps of his backpack as the car idles against the curb, desperately searching for an excuse to keep Zuko to himself a little longer.

“Uh, do you want to come inside for a bit? You’re welcome to stay for dinner—it’s just me and Katara tonight.”

“Oh.” Zuko chews his lip. “I really want to, but my uncle is leaving for a pai sho tournament in the morning, so we’re having a family dinner tonight before he goes.”

Sokka tries not to look too disappointed. “Oh. That’s okay. Another time?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Zuko says. He drops his gaze, toying with the edge of his sleeve.

Sokka pauses the music, but makes no move to get out of the car, not wanting to break the moment. The rain is beating a steady drone against the roof of the car, and the engine rumbles quietly beneath their feet. Sokka finds his gaze drawn to Zuko’s restless hands, his long elegant fingers. As Sokka watches, Zuko pulls the edge of his sleeve up past his wrist, exposing a streak of red ink just for a moment, and it takes Sokka’s brain a few seconds to catch up to what he just saw.

“Hold up,” Sokka says. “Hold the phone. Zuko. You have a tattoo?”

Zuko blinks, surprised at his sudden intensity, and then gives him a funny look. “I’m a tattoo artist. Of course I have a tattoo.”

“Yeah, but you never _told_ me!” Sokka says, his arms flailing wildly. He cracks his knuckles painfully against the windshield, but he’s so distracted that he barely even notices it. “How have I never seen it before?”

“Oh.” Zuko looks suddenly sheepish. “I guess because I’m always wearing long sleeves?”

“Which I will never understand, by the way. You firebenders are crazy, I swear.” Sokka reaches for Zuko’s wrist, but stops himself just before they actually touch. “Can you—can I see it?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course,” Zuko says, and reaches up to click on the overhead light. He pushes his sleeve up to his elbow and offers Sokka his arm. Sokka leans in, his eyes straining against the weak light, and then widening when he finally manages to make out the tattoo.

“Holy shit, dude,” Sokka breathes. He reaches out and, without even meaning to, lightly traces the tip of his finger over Zuko’s skin.

It’s a dragon, the lines etched delicately in vibrant red ink, twisting up the length of Zuko’s forearm. Thin tendrils of smoke curl out of its mouth and around its body, which is detailed with countless tiny scales. Its tail disappears under the edge of Zuko’s rolled-up sleeve, and Sokka resists the urge to push it up further, just to see how far up the tattoo goes.

“This is incredible,” Sokka says, following the curves of the tattoo with his finger. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it. “Who did it?”

“Aang did.”

“Wow.” Sokka takes Zuko’s wrist, gently turning his arm this way and that to get a better look. “Talented kid.”

“Yeah…” Zuko’s voice sounds…strange, and Sokka finally manages to look up. Zuko’s face has gone a funny shade of red, and his eyes are wide as he stares back at Sokka.

Sokka swallows. He abruptly realizes just how close their faces are, as they lean together over the centre console—he could probably count Zuko’s eyelashes right now, if he wanted to. Zuko’s arm is almost unbearably warm in his grip, but Sokka doesn’t think that there’s a single thing in the world that could get him to let go.

His heart has kicked into overdrive, thrumming loudly against his ribs, and Sokka vaguely wonders if Zuko can hear it. His mouth has gone suddenly dry—he darts his tongue out to wet his lips, and Zuko’s eyes catch on his mouth and stay there. Sokka feels like he might pass out.

Tui and La, is this really happening? Are they—is he—is Zuko going to kiss him?

Sokka lets out a shaky breath, and Zuko’s eyes fly back up to meet his own. Agni, they’re so close. They’re practically breathing each other’s air. All Sokka would have to do is lean in, close his eyes…

Zuko seems to have had the same idea. After a moment of hesitation, his eyes flutter shut, and he tilts his head to the side, and—

The deafening sound of Sokka’s ringtone fills the car, so suddenly that they both flinch violently, their foreheads knocking together with a painful _crack._ Sokka swears loudly, his hand flying up to his forehead, and fumbles blindly around for his phone in the cupholder, yanking the aux cord free—and effectively silencing the ringing—as he brings it up to his ear.

“Hello?” Fuck, he sounds really out of breath.

“Sokka! Where are you? Are you okay? Did you get caught in the rain?”

“Katara.” He slumps back against his seat. His forehead is _throbbing,_ and he prods at the tender spot, already feeling a goose-hen egg starting to form. “Yeah, I’m okay.” _Mostly._ “I’m right outside, actually.”

The curtains of the living room window part, and Katara peeks her head out, her phone held up to her ear. Sokka gives her a feeble wave through the passenger side window.

“Is that you? Whose car is that?”

“Zuko’s. I ran into him on my way home and he offered me a ride.”

“Oh.” Katara disappears, and the curtains swing back into place. “So you got the groceries?”

“Yeah.” He casts a quick glance in Zuko’s direction; Zuko has pulled down the sun visor and is busy frowning at his reflection in mirror, eyeing the matching bump on his own forehead. “I’ll be in in a second.”

“Okay,” Katara says, and then hangs up.

Sokka pockets his phone and turns to Zuko. “Are you okay?”

Zuko folds the sun visor back up and gives Sokka a wry smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve had worse first k—I mean.” He coughs and turns away, his face red.

Sokka’s heart lurches. So they really had been about to kiss, and of course he had to go and screw it up. Agni, why can’t he ever get anything right when it comes to Zuko?

“I’m really sorry about that,” Sokka says, and makes an apologetic face. “That was just—Katara, and she was worried about me, and, um, I should probably get inside actually, before she comes out here to physically drag me into the house.” He chuckles nervously.

“It’s okay,” Zuko says, tugging his sleeve back down over his tattoo, to Sokka’s disappointment. “And I should probably get home, anyways.”

“Right. Your family dinner.”

“Yeah.”

They meet eyes, and spend a long moment just watching each other, saying nothing, a palpable tension in the air. Sokka searches Zuko’s face; he’s not quite sure what he’s looking for. Maybe…regret? Hope? Longing?

Spirits, Sokka wants to kiss him so badly.

The moment is gone though—Sokka made sure of that when he smashed their faces together, and not in the fun way. So instead he gives Zuko an awkward little smile and reaches for the door handle.

He thinks he sees a flash of disappointment cross Zuko’s face, just for a second, but it’s gone so quickly that Sokka writes it off as wishful thinking.

“Um, thanks for the ride, man,” Sokka says, hovering halfway out the door. “I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” Zuko drops his gaze, his hands going back to the steering wheel, and Sokka takes that as his cue to leave. He grabs his skateboard and backpack, double-checks that he didn’t leave anything behind, and then steps back out into the rain. Zuko doesn’t look at him as he closes the door, and Sokka’s heart sinks a little.

He’s halfway up the driveway when he hears Zuko call his name, and he turns, his stomach rolling with apprehension.

Zuko has rolled the passenger window down all the way, and the rain is pouring in and definitely soaking the seat the rest of the way, but Zuko doesn’t seem to care, stretched out awkwardly over the centre console so that he can meet Sokka’s eye.

“Yeah?” Sokka says. He keeps his voice carefully neutral, trying to stifle the hope that is working to claw its way out of his chest.

Zuko’s mouth works silently for a moment. “I, um. I’ll see you around, right?”

Sokka feels his face break into a smile, despite himself. “Yeah, of course. You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he says, and winks.

Zuko ducks his head. “Okay. Yeah, uh. Good.” He lifts his gaze to Sokka’s, and smiles. It’s small but genuine and heartstoppingly beautiful. “See you, Sokka.”

“See you.” Sokka waves, and Zuko rolls the window back up. The car pulls away from the curb a second later. Sokka’s heart is positively _soaring._

The rest of the walk to the house is miserably wet—the rain hasn’t let up in the slightest—but Sokka doesn’t even care anymore, too caught up in his elation. He could have wet socks for the rest of his life and he’d be okay with it, with the way he’s feeling right now.

Katara is waiting at the for him at the door as he climbs the front steps. “Did you get everything I asked for?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, and slips his backpack off his shoulder. She wrinkles her nose, and bends the water out of the straps before taking it from him.

“Where’s Zuko? He didn’t want to come inside?”

Sokka shakes his head, flinging water droplets everywhere like a wet polar dog. “He had to go home. Family dinner.”

Katara tilts her head and gives him a scrutinizing look, narrowing her eyes.

“What?” Sokka says defensively.

“Did something…happen?”

“What? No. What makes you say that?” Sokka blusters.

She gives him a flat look, and pokes his forehead. “ _This.”_

Sokka shrieks and bats her hand away. “Why would you _do that?”_ He pokes the bump himself and winces. “And it was nothing. Just an accident. Now are you going to dry me off or what?”

Katara doesn’t look convinced, but thankfully drops it. She takes a step back, gesturing for Sokka to come inside.

“Alright,” she says, “but don’t come inside too far; I don’t want you dripping all over the place.”

The rest of the night passes in…a bit of a blur, if Sokka is being honest. He’s _very_ distracted. Katara even bans him from helping her with dinner when he almost slices his finger off while chopping vegetables, too caught up in his own head to pay attention to what he’s doing.

He keeps replaying that moment in the car over and over, stuck in a mental loop of _holy shit we almost kissed_. More than once he finds his fingers drifting up to his mouth, imagining what might’ve happened if Katara hadn’t called him just then—the press of Zuko’s lips, the solid weight of him beneath Sokka’s palms, that heady, delicious heat that warmed him from the inside out…

They’ve reached a tipping point. Sokka doesn’t think it’s possible to go back to _just friends_ after tonight.

Now it’s just a matter of seeing what lies on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> make sure to go check out [@hi_himi](https://instagram.com/hi_himi?igshid=atlme0ix0lzx) on instagram for the inspiration behind zuko's tattoo


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sokka tilts his head to the side, watching Zuko through his eyelashes. Spirits, but he’s so_ pretty. _His cheeks are already a little flush with alcohol, and he’s got his empty glass pressed to his bottom lip, his tongue pink and barely visible between his teeth. It takes all of Sokka’s self control not to lean in and kiss him right then and there._
> 
> — 
> 
> With Uncle Iroh out of town, Zuko decides to host a house party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: alcohol and shweed

> [11:47 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Hey so
> 
> [11:48 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** My sister is throwing a party at our house tomorrow night since my uncle is away this weekend
> 
> [11:48 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Would you and Katara like to come?
> 
> omg [11:49 pm]
> 
> yes?????? [11:49 pm]
> 
> do u even have to ask [11:49 pm]
> 
> [11:50 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Haha
> 
> [11:50 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** It starts at 8. I’ll text you the address
> 
> do u need me to bring anything? [11:50 pm]
> 
> [11:51 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** No
> 
> [11:51 pm] **zuko hot tattoo:** Just yourself

—

“How do I look?”

Katara leans back from the mirror and cuts a glance towards Sokka, hovering in the bathroom doorway. “Good.”

Sokka deflates. “Just good?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

Sokka shrugs dejectedly. “I don’t know. Something better than good, at least.”

Katara rolls her eyes and turns back to the mirror, returning to the painstaking process of applying liquid eyeliner. “Fine, Sokka, you look great.”

Sokka frowns and worries at his lip, turning to eye himself in the mirror. He’s gone for a tank top—which he can _finally_ wear again, now that his tattoo is all healed up—that is definitely a little on the scandalous side, with how low-cut the arm holes are. Along with it: his favourite pair of athletic shorts, over top of some cropped black compression pants. He’d been aiming for casual, but he’s worried that it comes off a little too…sporty.

“You don’t think I’m underdressed?” he says.

“It’s a house party, Sokka,” Katara says, and then winces when she accidentally pokes herself in the eye. “There isn’t really a dress code for those.”

“I guess.” He crosses his arms and leans against the counter, watching as Katara switches to her other eye.

She hums thoughtfully. “I’m sure Zuko will like it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I—wh—this isn’t about Zuko!” Sokka sputters. “And it’s not like I care about what he thinks, anyways.”

Now isn’t that a bold-faced lie. Sokka had gotten dressed _specifically_ with Zuko in mind—especially the shirt. He figured that showing a little extra skin wouldn’t hurt his chances, right?

His chances at what, you ask? Well, he still doesn’t really know yet.

“Sure,” Katara says, obviously not convinced. She finishes the wing of her eyeliner with a flourish and turns to him. “Now get over here; I know you only came in here so I could do your makeup for you.”

Sokka grins; she knows him so well. “Thanks, Katara.”

He plops himself onto the closed toilet seat and sits perfectly still as Katara dabs at his face with concealer. She’s not gentle by any means, but years of experience have taught Sokka not to fidget unless he wants to risk her wrath—usually accompanied by a face-full of water.

She’s done in a matter of minutes—Sokka only likes to go for the bare minimum, after all—and they both head down to the living room, where Bato and Hakoda are engrossed in a rerun of _Oma and Shu._ Sokka hates it—it’s just some cheap, cheesy E-drama—but his dads, for some inexplicable reason, absolutely love it.

Hakoda looks up at their entrance. “Are you kids ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Katara says.

Hakoda checks the time on his watch, and then shoots Sokka a surprised look. “You know it’s way past eight, right?”

Sokka rolls his eyes. _Yes_ he knows he is punctual to the point of being annoying, _no_ his family doesn’t need to bring it up at every single opportunity. “Everybody knows that you’re not supposed to show up on time for a party.”

Katara elbows him, smirking. “Took you long enough to figure that out, though.”

Sokka shoves her.

Hakoda pays their tussling no mind, unfazed after two decades of experience. “Can you guys wait a few more minutes? The episode is almost over.”

“ _Daaad,”_ Katara and Sokka whine at the same time.

Bato snorts. “You guys are already late; what’s a couple more minutes?”

Sokka sighs. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

Nevertheless, he moves to lean against the back of the couch, and Katara perches on the armrest next to Bato. Sokka picks at his cuticles and watches the TV out of the corner of his eye—spirits, it really is so bad—while he waits for the show to end.

The credits finally roll over an overly melodramatic theme song. Sokka tries not to look too exasperated at Hakoda and Bato’s twin expressions of anguish. “Haven’t you guys already seen this like, ten million times?”

“You just don’t understand its genius,” says Hakoda, groaning in the obnoxious way that dads do whenever they get up from the couch.

“No, I certainly don’t,” Sokka mutters.

Bato waves them goodbye from the couch as they file out the front door. “Be safe, kids.”

“We always are,” Sokka says with a flippant wave of his hand, and Hakoda laughs.

Sokka sits in the passenger seat and directs Hakoda to the address Zuko had given him, following the map that he’s pulled up on his phone. After a good twenty minutes—during which Hakoda refuses to let Sokka plug his phone into the aux and they instead have to suffer through some weird old rock radio station—they pull up in front of an exceptionally long driveway, the gate propped open invitingly. At the end of the driveway sits a massive beach house, its windows lit up yellow in the night. Sokka gapes at it, dumbstruck.

“Um,” Katara says, leaning forward in between the two front seats. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

Sokka double-checks the address that Zuko sent him earlier. “Yep.”

Hakoda looks over at Sokka, his eyebrows raised. “I didn’t know your friend was rich.”

Sokka slowly shakes his head. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the house. “Me neither.”

He and Katara climb out of the car, but Hakoda rolls down his window before they can get too far. “You guys text me if you need me to pick you up, or if you’re planning on spending the night.”

“Okay, Dad,” Sokka says.

“And don’t get in the car with anyone if they’ve been drinking.”

“We know, Dad,” Katara says.

“And don’t do any drugs.”

“We won’t,” Katara says, as Sokka crosses his arms and mutters, “I’m an adult, I should be allowed to do drugs if I want to.”

Hakoda shoots him a stern look.

“ _Not_ saying that I want to,” Sokka huffs. “I’d just like to have the choice.”

Hakoda opens his mouth, no doubt to berate him, but Katara steps forward and kisses him on the cheek before he can say anything. “We’ll be safe, Dad. Promise. You don’t have to worry about us.”

Hakoda grumbles, but he looks mollified. “You’ll call me if you need anything?”

“Again, we’re adults. You don’t have to keep babying us,” Sokka says. At Hakoda’s expression, he adds, “But _fine,_ yes, we’ll call you if we need to. Now _bye.”_

He makes a shooing motion. Hakoda looks disgruntled, but shifts the car back into gear nonetheless.

“I love you,” Hakoda says.

“Love you, Dad.”

“Yeah, love you too.”

Hakoda gives them one last long look, and then pulls away, his window still rolled down, no doubt watching them through the rearview mirrors.

“You know he’s just looking out for us,” Katara says as they start up the long path towards the house. A breeze carries the faint thumping of music in their direction.

“I know,” Sokka sighs. “I just wish he wouldn’t be so overbearing about it.”

The music gets louder as they approach the front door, until it feels like it’s practically leaking out of all the cracks of the house, disturbing still night air. Sokka swears that he can feel the bass vibrating the ground beneath his feet.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little intimidated by the grandeur of the house in front of them. It’s easily four, maybe five times as big as their rented home. The gardens lining the winding driveway are immaculately tended, and the ocean glitters not two hundred feet away, the waves lapping rhythmically against a secluded private beach.

Sokka supposes that maybe he should have known that Zuko was loaded, given how nice his car was, but it had—quite understandably, he thinks—been the last thing on his mind last night.

_Last night._ Sokka swallows, his stomach churning with a sudden rush of nerves. He can’t tell if he’s excited or anxious about seeing Zuko again so soon…maybe both?

“You okay?” Katara says, looking over at him with concern. His apprehension must be showing on his face.

“Yeah,” Sokka says. He clears his throat. “It’s just—a lot.”

“Yeah.” Her gaze sweeps over the house again, her eyes wide. “It is.”

They finally arrive at the front door. There’s a worn little doormat in front of it that reads “Oolong time, no see,” which makes Sokka feel a little better. Puns just have that sort of effect on him.

Katara rings the doorbell, and Sokka tries not to fidget too obviously as they wait. The music is so loud that he can’t tell if there’s anyone behind the door, or even if anyone heard the doorbell. He’s debating if they should ring it again, or if maybe he should text Zuko instead, when the door suddenly swings open, the music hitting them like a brick wall. Sokka tries not to wince.

There’s a girl standing in the doorway, one hand on her hip. She looks about their age, and despite being around Katara’s height, somehow manages to look down her nose at them both.

“And who are you?” she says. Her voice is sharp and commanding, and Sokka wilts a little under her cold stare.

“Um, I’m Sokka, and this is my sister Katara,” he says, gesturing weakly. “We’re Zuko’s friends?”

Her face seems to light up at that; Sokka doesn’t think he likes the sudden gleam in her eye. “Oh, _Sokka._ Yes, Zuzu’s told me about you. Come on in.”

They follow her inside, where the party is in full swing. There are people milling about or standing in small clusters as they talk, leaning towards each other to be heard over the pounding music. Almost everyone has a drink in their hand. Sokka cranes his neck around, trying to find a familiar face; he spots Toph through the sliding doors that lead to the backyard, surrounded by a group of cheering spectators as she shotguns a can.

“I’m Azula, by the way,” the girl says as she leads them past a cluster of couches, out of the main room and into a massive kitchen. “Zuko’s sister. Though I doubt he’s told you about me.”

“He’s mentioned you,” Sokka says. He figures he should try to make conversation with the host, even if she is the most intimidating person he’s ever met. “He said you work the summer camps.”

“Oh, yes—that. It’s a firebending summer camp. Agni knows why I work there—children are exhausting.” She opens what Sokka had assumed at first was a fridge, but is in fact a full-size wine cooler, stocked to the brim with cans and bottles of various shapes and sizes. “Do you two drink?”

“Yes,” Sokka and Katara say in unison.

Azula turns and gives them a scrutinizing look. It makes Sokka feel weirdly vulnerable, for reasons he can’t explain. There’s just something about Azula that makes him feel like she can see right through him, all the way to his bones.

After another second, Azula nods, and turns to grab two cans from the cooler. “A beer for you,” she says, handing one can to Sokka, “and a spiked seltzer for you.” She holds out the other can for Katara.

Katara eyes it with a frown on her face. “I can drink beer.”

“I know,” Azula says, one eyebrow quirked, “but you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

Katara grumbles, but takes the can. Sokka appraises Azula, silently impressed. Her drink choices had been almost uncannily on the nose—it’s Sokka’s favourite type of beer too, even if he doesn’t recognize the brand.

“Thanks, Azula,” he says, popping the tab and taking a sip. It tastes expensive, somehow.

“You’re welcome,” she says, tossing a rogue strand of jet black hair back over her shoulder. “Now, I have to go play hostess and make sure that nobody has broken any priceless family heirlooms, but feel free to help yourselves to anything in the wine fridge. If you’re looking for food, there are snacks in the dining room. I haven’t seen Zuko in a while, but he should be around here somewhere.” And with that she sweeps out of the kitchen, leaving behind the faint smell of…ozone?

“…Well,” Sokka says. “That was interesting.” He’s sure that there’s more that he could say about Azula, but it evades him at the moment. He takes another sip of his beer. “Shall we go mingle?”

Katara snorts. “‘Mingle?’ What are you, fifty?”

“Getting there,” he says jovially, and steers her out of the room.

He heads for the doors to the backyard, hoping to catch Toph, but she seems to have disappeared in the few minutes that they spent in the kitchen. He casts around, trying to locate her again—she can’t have gone _that_ far—but instead his gaze lands on a familiar head of brown hair. One that he’d hoped to never see again.

“Oh, spirits,” Sokka says, his stomach sinking.

“What?” Katara says, and turns to follow his line of sight. Her jaw goes slack. “Is that…?”

Sokka nods grimly. “Jet.”

At that exact moment, Jet lifts his head, and he and Sokka lock eyes from across the yard. Jet’s eyes widen for a second, and then his mouth curves into a smile, dangerously sharp. He bends down to whisper something into the ear of the person next to him, throws back the rest of his drink, and then saunters towards Sokka and Katara.

Sokka gulps. His heart is going crazy, and not in a good way. Katara squeezes his arm reassuringly.

“Sokka,” Jet says once he’s within earshot. Sokka wants to wipe that sleazy grin right off his stupid face.

“Jet,” Sokka says curtly. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Jet tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at him. Sokka feels Katara bristle beside him. “I didn’t know you knew Zuko. Or is it Azula?” He taps his bottom lip with a long finger. “Or maybe you’re somebody’s plus one?”

“Zuko invited me. We’re friends.” He scowls. “Why are _you_ here?”

“I’ll have you know that Zuko invited me too.” Jet procures a vape, seemingly out of thin air, and takes a pull. “He used to manage the band for us, you know.”

Ugh. Not Jet’s stupid band again; Sokka has heard enough about it to last a lifetime. He doesn’t even bother trying to hide his eye roll.

“Aw, come on. Why are you giving me the cold shoulder?” Jet steps closer and tries to wrap an arm around Sokka’s shoulders; Sokka shrugs him off. “Things didn’t end that badly between us, did they?”

“No,” Sokka says. “You were just a jerk.”

Although ‘just a jerk’ is being generous. It doesn’t quite capture the way Jet consistently stood him up or showed up late to their dates, and always talked over him to prattle on about his shitty band, and was generally just a massive douchebag.

“Ouch,” Jet says, pressing an overdramatic hand to his chest.

Sokka can feel Katara giving Jet a death glare from his other side, and he heaves an internal sigh. While Sokka can be persuaded to act civil in the name of not ruining Zuko’s party, Katara is a _lot_ more hot-headed than he is, and wouldn’t even question starting a fight to defend Sokka’s honour. He resigns himself to dealing with Jet on his own.

“Katara, why don’t you go find Toph?” Sokka says. “I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.”

“What?” Katara exclaims. “I’m not leaving you with—with _him!”_

“Relax,” he says, even though his stomach is churning at the mere thought of it. “It’s not like he’s going to hurt me or anything,” he narrows his eyes at Jet, “right?”

“Of course not,” Jet says. “I’m not an asshole.”

“Debatable,” Sokka mutters. Jet either doesn’t hear him or pretends not to.

Katara shoots Sokka a worried look. “If you’re sure…”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He gives her a gentle push back towards the house. “Don’t worry about me.”

Katara gives him one last, searching look, and then turns to make her way back inside. Sokka watches her leave, desperately wishing that he were going with her.

Jet shifts on his feet, pulling Sokka’s attention back towards him. He takes another long pull from his vape, exhaling a cloud of sweet-smelling vapour. Sokka wrinkles his nose at the cloying scent, and Jet raises an eyebrow, but, in an uncharacteristically considerate move, blows his next breath away from Sokka.

“So,” Jet says at length, “how have you been? The last time we saw each other must’ve been, what, two years ago?”

Sokka snorts and rolls his eyes. “As if you actually care.”

“Come on, is it so hard to believe that I’ve changed?”

Sokka eyes him critically. On the outside, it doesn’t seem like he’s changed much: still annoyingly good-looking, still got that suave, effortlessly cool air about him, still carrying that stupid vape with him everywhere he goes. On the inside, though…Sokka has no idea.

“Why should I?” Sokka says, crossing his arms.

Jet shrugs, looking unbothered by Sokka’s skepticism. “Two years is a long time. A lot can happen.”

“And what, I’m supposed to believe that you just magically became a better person?”

“Not magically. It took a lot of effort.” Jet blows an ‘O’, and they watch it float away and dissipate into the air. Then he turns and meets Sokka’s eye, and his face is so sincere that Sokka almost feels uneasy. “And for the record, I’m sorry for the way I treated you back then. I was kind of a dick.”

Sokka averts his gaze and lets out a long breath. Part of him wants to tell Jet to take his stupid little platitudes and fuck right off, but the bigger part of him can’t help but recognize that Jet really _does_ seem genuine. And the Jet that Sokka knew never would’ve acknowledged that he was acting like a dick, much less apologized for it.

Sokka sighs, resigned.

“Try ‘a huge dick’ instead,” he says, uncrossing his arms. “But fine, whatever. I accept your apology.”

Jet quirks one ridiculously pointy eyebrow. “A huge dick, huh?”

“ _Man,_ fuck off, you know that’s not what I meant,” Sokka groans, shoving him away. Jet just laughs, but it’s not mean, which is new.

“You wanna come with me to get another drink?” Jet says, gesturing to the can in Sokka’s hand.

Sokka shakes the can, and is surprised to find that it’s almost empty. He shrugs and downs the rest of it. “Sure.”

They make their way back into the house. On the way to the kitchen, Sokka spots Katara in the main room, sitting next to Aang on an expensive-looking couch. She makes a questioning gesture, no doubt surprised to see Jet still with him; Sokka gives her a thumb up in return.

There’s already someone in the kitchen when they get there, bent over as they rummage through the fridge. Sokka edges past them on his way to the wine fridge, offering a quiet “Excuse me,” but then the person lifts their head and oh _shit—_

It’s Zuko.

He looks confused for a second, but then his face lights up when he realizes that it’s Sokka, and Sokka’s heart rockets into his throat.

“Sokka, hey,” Zuko says, and smiles. His voice is so achingly soft that Sokka feels like he might melt.

“Hey,” Sokka says, hoping that he doesn’t sound too much like a lovestruck idiot.

Zuko straightens, closing the door to the fridge. “I saw Katara earlier, but I didn’t know where you were. I was looking for you.”

“Yeah? In the fridge?” Sokka jokes, and Zuko’s face turns an adorable shade of pink.

“I may have gotten a little sidetracked,” he admits.

Sokka grins and leans his hip against the counter, crossing his arms. A thrill runs through him when he catches Zuko’s eyes lingering on his bare shoulders. “Well, we managed to find each other in the end, so I guess I’ll forgive you.”

Someone clears their throat behind him, and Sokka jerks his gaze away from Zuko to find Jet watching them both, an amused expression on his face. Sokka’s cheeks burn—he’d gotten so distracted by Zuko that he completely forgot that Jet was there.

“Oh! Hey, Jet,” Zuko says. He’s blushing just as furiously as Sokka is. “I, uh, didn’t see you there. How’s it going?”

“Good,” Jet drawls. “Sokka and I were just coming to get another drink.”

“Oh. You two know each other?”

“Of course,” Jet says, coming to stand next to Sokka. He wraps an arm around his shoulder, and Sokka resists the urge to shrug him off again. “He and I go _way_ back. We’ve got some major history.” He gives Zuko a sharp smile, one that Sokka knows from experience spells nothing but trouble.

Zuko’s eyes tighten, just for a second, so quickly and so subtly that Sokka almost misses it.

Sokka _does_ shrug Jet off then, and he throws in an elbow jab too, for good measure. “Yeah, _old_ history, though. We haven’t seen each other in years.” Ignoring Jet’s mock-wounded expression, he steps past Zuko to get to the wine fridge and pulls it open. “What do you want to drink?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Jet says, even though Sokka had been looking at Zuko when he’d asked it.

Sokka tries not to roll his eyes and grabs two cans of the same beer that he’d been drinking before. “Zuko?”

“Oh, uh, I was actually gonna mix myself something,” Zuko says. He seems to suddenly remember himself, and yanks the fridge door back open to grab a carton of orange juice.

Just then, a pair of giggling girls stumbles into the kitchen from the other entrance. Sokka vaguely recognizes the first girl as the client Zuko was working on the first time he went to The Jasmine Dragon, and behind her, clinging to her arm like a lifeline, is, of all people, Suki.

Suki’s eyes widen when she spots Sokka, her laughter abruptly cutting off. “Sokka! You’re here!” she exclaims, a little too loud, and stumbles over towards him, a little unsteady on her feet. She must already have a couple drinks in her.

“Hey, Suki!” Sokka laughs, placing the cans on the kitchen island just in time to catch her in his arms. She wraps her arms around his middle and squeezes, almost unbearably tight. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Ty Lee invited me!” Suki releases him and spins back around, holding her arm out to the other girl. Ty Lee steps closer and takes Suki’s hand, wrapping her other arm around Suki’s waist and leaning into her. “Ty Lee, this is my friend Sokka. Sokka, Ty Lee.”

“I know you,” Ty Lee says, tilting her head quizzically at him. “You’re that cute guy from the tattoo shop! The one who had Zuko all worked up.”

Sokka feels his face heat up, and behind him Zuko makes a weird choking noise. “Yep, that’s me.”

Suki suddenly gasps, startling him and everyone else. All eyes turn to look at her.“Wait, this is perfect! We were gonna play a game of beer-bending, but we still need someone to play against. You two can be on the other team!”

“Sure! I love beer-bending,” Sokka says, as Zuko says, “Uhh, I don’t know…”

Sokka turns to pout at him, giving him his best polar bear-dog eyes. “What, you don’t want to be my beer-bending partner?”

“No, no, it’s not that. I just…” He gestures to his face—specifically, the scar. “Don’t have the greatest…depth perception?”

“Oh,” Sokka says. He feels very abruptly like an idiot.

“I can do it,” Jet says, stepping forward from where he’d been hanging back from the conversation. Suki’s eyes dart over to him, seeming to notice him for the first time, and her face suddenly twists up in disgust.

“ _Jet?_ ” she says. “Uh, full offence, but I don’t think Sokka would want you as his partner.”

“Suki, it’s okay,” Sokka says, raising a placating hand. “Me and Jet are chill now. Mostly.”

Suki frowns at him, but backs down. Ty Lee places a comforting arm around her shoulders. “If you say so…”

They grab a few more cans of beer from the fridge and head into the dining room, leaving Zuko behind to mix his drink. There’s a long dining table, which has been thoughtfully covered with plastic garbage bags, empty plastic cups and ping pong balls scattered across its surface, no doubt leftover from a previous game of beer-bending. Sokka immediately makes a beeline for the cabinet against the far wall, which is laden with bowls filled with snacks, while Ty Lee and Suki set up the game.

“Okay, boys!” Suki eventually says, clapping her hands together. Sokka hurriedly swallows his mouthful of fire flakes and shuffles over to the table. “Let’s do this. Prepare for defeat!”

Sokka makes a show of cracking his knuckles. “In your dreams,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it. Knowing Suki, he doesn’t have high hopes for him and Jet.

The game starts out…not so great, for them. Suki lands one in their Fire cup right off the bat, and Sokka grumbles when Jet pushes the cup towards him but drinks it nonetheless. He laughs at Jet’s expression when his shot bounces off the rim of Ty Lee and Suki’s Earth cup, but Zuko walks into the room right as Sokka is taking his own shot, and it flies embarrassingly wide.

“A little distracted, are we?” Suki laughs, and Sokka chucks a stray ping pong ball at her head.

Suki and Ty Lee each manage to sink one on their second turn, and Sokka and Jet resignedly tap their cups together before throwing them back. Suki looks genuinely surprised when Jet manages to land one next, but she accepts her cup with a gracious tilt of her head.

Then Jet is pressing a ball into Sokka’s hand, head leaned in close as he murmurs into Sokka’s ear, “Don’t screw it up.”

Sokka rolls his eyes and steps away, out of his reach. “I won’t.”

But as he lines up the shot, his confidence falters. He’s already drank enough that it’s getting a little hard to focus, and he swears that he can feel the weight of Zuko’s gaze on him across the room, scrambling his brain even further. Add to that the way that Jet is looming behind him, practically breathing down his neck, and Sokka isn’t too sure that he’s going to be able to make this.

In the end, he just closes his eyes, prays to the moon spirit, and throws. And, miraculously, it lands.

“Ha!” he yells, pumping his fist. “Take _that,_ Suki!” He shoots Zuko, leaning against the wall and nursing his drink, an exhilarated grin; Zuko smiles indulgently and gives him a thumbs up.

Suki just chuckles and hands the cup to Ty Lee, who makes a face of disgust before chugging it down. “Don’t get too cocky, loverboy.”

And indeed, Sokka’s excitement is short-lived. After resetting the cups for the next round, the game ends after a devastating knockout from Suki and Ty Lee—which included a crazy trick shot that never should’ve worked but somehow _did—_ and Jet and Sokka are left to shamefully finish all of the leftover cups. Sokka is well on his way to drunk by the time he stumbles over to Zuko’s side and leans against the wall next to him.

“Spirits, that was brutal. I don’t know how they’re so good.” Sokka slumps and tips his head back against the wall with a muffled _thunk._ “And they were both already drunk! It’s not fair.”

Zuko laughs quietly and jostles Sokka’s shoulder with his own. “It’s okay, you put up a good fight.”

Sokka tilts his head to the side, watching Zuko through his eyelashes. Spirits, but he’s so _pretty._ His cheeks are already a little flush with alcohol, and he’s got his empty glass pressed to his bottom lip, his tongue pink and barely visible between his teeth. It takes all of Sokka’s self control not to lean in and kiss him right then and there.

“You think so?” Sokka says. He doesn’t mean for his voice to come out as low and teasing as it does, but he really can’t complain too much at the way Zuko’s flush deepens in response.

“Yeah, it wasn’t too bad,” Zuko says, and Sokka swears that he’s not imagining the way Zuko’s eyes dart down to his mouth for just a split second.

“Hey, are you guys coming?” Jet says, and Sokka snaps his head up. Jet is waiting in the doorway, his mouth twisted up into a smirk as he watches them. Ty Lee and Suki have already disappeared, and there’s a group of unfamiliar people in the room setting up a new game of beer-bending. Sokka feels his face flush—he’d let himself get completely distracted by Zuko, _again._

“Yeah, we’re coming,” he says, and peels away from the wall to join Jet. Zuko grumbles, but is close on his heels.

They find the others in the main room, sprawled across the couches or on the floor. Suki has Ty Lee in her lap, and they’re making out as if there’s nobody else in the room with them, which, good for them, honestly. There’s Azula, on one of the couches, looking a lot less uptight than when Sokka first saw her, and talking to a severe-looking girl that he doesn’t recognize. Sokka goes to take a seat next to Katara on the other couch, but then stops in his tracks when he notices what she’s holding.

“Wh— _Katara!_ Where did you get that?” he exclaims, gesturing to the smoking joint pinched between her fingers.

“Oh, that was me.” Aang, seated next to her, grins meekly. “I don’t drink, so…”

Katara’s eyes are wide and a little red. “Don’t tell Dad.”

“I won’t if you don’t,” Sokka says with a grin, and crooks his fingers in her direction.

She hands him the joint, and he settles down next to her, taking a deep pull. He hasn’t done this in a while—not since the semester ended, at least, and even then his course load was heavy enough that he didn’t indulge much—and he’s unprepared for the way that it burns his throat on the way in. He coughs, his eyes watering, and offers the joint to Zuko, who’s standing there watching him with a bemused expression.

“No, thanks,” Zuko says good-naturedly, and Sokka shrugs, takes another pull before handing the joint back to Katara.

“Hey, Katara, scooch over a bit,” Sokka says, elbowing her in the side. She scowls at him, but does as she’s told, leaning further into Aang until she’s practically sitting in his lap. Aang’s face goes very red, much to Sokka’s amusement.

Sokka pats the newly empty space next him. “Zuko, come sit.”

Zuko smiles, and goes so easily that it makes Sokka’s stomach flutter. He squeezes onto the couch, a solid warmth pressed all up against Sokka’s side. Sokka resists the urge to loop his arm over Zuko’s shoulder. He may be drunk—and a little bit high, now—but he’s not feeling quite that brave. Not yet, at least.

The music is a lot louder out here. Sokka doesn’t mind, because it means that he has to lean in close to hear what Zuko’s saying as they talk. The feeling of Zuko’s hot breath on his cheek has Sokka’s head spinning in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol in his bloodstream. At some point Sokka’s hand ends up on Zuko’s thigh, just above the knee, and Zuko doesn’t do anything to remove it—just lets Sokka’s fingers fiddle absently with the inseam of his black track pants, nails scraping dully over the fabric.

It’s intoxicating.

Eventually, after spirits know how long—Sokka certainly hasn’t been paying attention—Toph swaggers into the room with a half-empty bottle of baijiu and bullies everyone in the immediate vicinity into a game of Truth or Dare. Sokka reluctantly drags his attention away from Zuko to focus on the game at hand.

Toph goes first. She doesn’t even hesitate before choosing Dare. There’s a cacophony of voices as everyone chimes in with suggestions, but one manages to rise above the others: “I dare you to kiss Katara!”

Sokka watches curiously as the confident smirk drops off of Toph’s face, her cheeks flaring bright red.

“I—uh,” she stammers, and the room immediately erupts into a chorus of clucking noises.

“Chicken-pig! Chicken-pig!” everyone chants, and Sokka can’t help but join in, buoyed by the riotous atmosphere and the alcohol in his veins.

“Fine. Fine! I’ll do it, shut _up,_ ” Toph says, waving at everyone to calm down. She’s impressively steady as she makes her way over to Katara, who tips her head up to graciously accept the chaste kiss that Toph plants on her lips.

Everyone cheers, and Toph returns to her seat, her entire face blazing red. Sokka chuckles and nudges Zuko, leaning over to whisper gleefully into his ear, “I think _someone_ might have a bit of a crush.” Although if Sokka is being honest, this information doesn’t come as much of a surprise to him. It certainly explains the excessive number of affectionate nicknames that Toph has come up with for Katara.

The game continues around the room, with an almost even distribution of Truths and Dares. The gloomy-looking girl at Azula’s side—Sokka learns that her name is Mai—reveals that she owns an extensive and elaborate knife collection and absolutely knows how to use it. Two of Jet’s bandmates join in partway through—Sokka recognizes their faces, but he can’t for the life of him remember their names—and are dared to swap underwear, which they flat out refuse to do, and are met with loud jeering as they each take a swig from the bottle.

When Sokka’s turn comes, he chooses Dare without hesitation. He has a lot of embarrassing facts about himself that this group of mostly strangers definitely does _not_ need to be privy to.

He almost immediately regrets it, though, when he’s dared to sit in Jet’s lap for the rest of the game.

Sokka knows he can refuse—it’s just a game, after all—but he’s got a bit of a complicated relationship with baijiu, and he doesn’t really want a repeat of the _last_ time he took one too many shots of it. And so he sucks it up, gets up from his seat, and goes to perch precariously on Jet’s knee on the other couch. He very pointedly ignores the grin that Jet gives him, looking like the cat-owl that ate the canary-mouse.

Harder to ignore is Zuko’s frown, his face pinched and unhappy as he watches Sokka from across the room. But then it’s Zuko’s turn, and his face smoothes out as he turns to accept his dare, leaving Sokka to wonder if he’d just been imagining things after all.

The night continues to pass in a blur of alcohol, laughter, and increasingly outrageous dares. Sokka, nursing a bottle of beer that someone pressed into his hand, finds himself loosening more and more as time goes on, a sort of relaxed contentment settling into his limbs and clouding his head. He can’t remember the last time he had this much fun, especially with a bunch of almost-strangers.

He tilts his head back against Jet’s shoulder—and, huh, when did he end up sprawled across Jet’s chest like that?—as he laughs uproariously at the wobbly stick and poke that now adorns Suki’s ankle, courtesy of one _very_ giggly Aang. Through his laughter, Sokka turns to try to catch Zuko’s eye—which is no small feat, given that Sokka is finding it a little difficult to focus his eyes properly at the moment—but then jolts in surprise when he finds Zuko already watching him with a focused intensity that is, honestly, a little unnerving.

But it goes beyond that, actually. Because Zuko doesn’t just look weirdly, alarmingly intense. He looks _pissed._

Sokka’s bewilderment must show on his face, because Zuko’s eyes widen, and he quickly looks away, but Sokka is already more than a little concerned. Something must be really wrong for Zuko to be looking like _that_ —like someone pissed in his drink, or spat in his face or something equally disgusting _._ Sokka tries to climb to his feet, only to be stopped by a pair of arms banding around his middle.

“Ah ah ah,” Jet says, his breath hot on the back of Sokka’s neck. “Until the end of the game, remember?”

Sokka huffs. “I just want to go check on Zuko. Let me up.”

“A dare’s a dare, Sokka.”

“Dude, it’s just a game.” Sokka tries to get up again, but Jet just tightens his hold. He groans in frustration. “Spirits, why are you so _annoying?_ This is why I can’t fucking stand you.”

There’s a sudden flurry of movement on the other side of the room, and Sokka snaps his head up to find Zuko on his feet, his face twisted into a fierce glare.

“Let go of him,” Zuko growls. Sokka is hyperaware of every eye in the room suddenly turning to watch them, and he wants more than anything to disappear into the floor. But, trapped as he is, he can only sit there, smack in the middle of what he’s afraid is shaping up to be one nasty argument.

“Why, you jealous or something?” Jet says, insufferably cool. “I didn’t realize you two were together.”

Zuko’s face goes very red, but he somehow manages to scowl even harder. “I—we’re not—” he sputters, and Sokka jabs an elbow backwards into Jet’s ribs.

“Dude. Back off,” he says, turning to shoot Jet a pointed glare.

“Chill, it was just a joke,” Jet says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. He does release his hold on Sokka, though, and Sokka clambers to his feet, putting some distance between him and Jet.

“Well, it wasn’t funny,” Zuko snaps.

“Hey, Zuko, it’s fine,” Sokka says, as calmly as he can, taking a step towards Zuko. But to his dismay, it only makes Zuko even more agitated, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“It’s _not_ fine,” he spits, his eyes suddenly blazing. He looks like he’s trying to burn a hole through Jet’s face with the sheer force of his glare. “Why are you doing this? Just to piss me off? Is this funny to you?”

“Why am I doing what?” Jet says, perfectly nonchalant, a stark contrast to Zuko’s explosive anger. It’s a ruse that Sokka is very familiar with, and his stomach sinks, heavy with the knowledge that this is not going to end well for Zuko.

“ _This!_ All of this!” Zuko gestures sharply towards Sokka, towards Jet. “The fucking—touching and the flirting and shoving it all in my face!”

“What?” Sokka says, genuinely confused. The alcohol muddling his brain definitely isn’t helping things. “I wasn’t doing anything like that.” _Not with anyone but you,_ he almost adds, but manages to hold his tongue at the last second.

Jet, though. Jet just looks smug, which seems to only piss Zuko off even more. Sokka is very concerned about the rising probability of Zuko’s fist being introduced to Jet’s face.

And— _oh, spirits—_ speaking of Zuko’s fist: it’s actually smoking now, little tendrils drifting up from where it’s clenched at his side. Zuko doesn’t even seem to have noticed, too busy giving Jet the death glare.

“Zuko!” Azula’s sharp voice pierces the air, hard and commanding, and it’s like something breaks, everything rushing back in all at once. Zuko’s eyes go wide, and he stumbles back a step, shaking his head. Sokka can feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on them, watching with a sort of nervous expectation, and the room has gone completely silent save for the music that continues to pound through the speakers.

He’s never been so uncomfortable in his life.

“Fuck,” Zuko says, loudly and with feeling. He runs one hand through his hair, lets out a harsh breath. “I’m sorry, I—shit. Excuse me.” And then he bolts out of the room without another word.

Sokka stares after him for a second, gobsmacked—Tui and La, he is _not_ sober enough for this—before suddenly whirling on Jet, who’s still lounging on the couch as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“What’s your fucking problem, man?” Sokka spits, and jabs a finger into Jet’s chest, hard. “Have you seriously been trying to fuck with Zuko all night?”

Jet, to his credit, actually has the decency to look a little chagrined. “Hey, I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. I was just trying to make him a little jealous, rile him up a bit.”

Sokka makes a disgusted noise. “You’re such an asshole, you know that?”

Jet shrugs. “So I’ve been told,” he says, pushing Sokka’s finger away.

Sokka straightens and turns back to the room. Everyone is still watching him, completely silent, and he feels his face burn.

“Right, um, sorry about that, folks.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, towards the doorway where Zuko disappeared. “I’m just gonna, uh, go make sure Zuko’s okay.”

“Want some liquid courage?” Toph says from the floor, offering up the nearly empty bottle of baijiu.

“No, I—I’m good,” Sokka says with a weak smile, and then spins on his heel, following Zuko’s path out of the room.

Thankfully, their little blowout seems to have been contained to the main room; the party continues on undisturbed in the other parts of the house. Sokka asks a group of girls doing shots in the kitchen if they’ve seen Zuko, and they point him out towards the backyard.

He doesn’t find Zuko in the backyard, but he asks around again, and someone points him in the direction of the beach. And sure enough, if he squints hard enough, he can just make out a lone figure sitting out on the sand, just barely illuminated by the light of the half moon.

Sokka picks his way down to the beach, doing his best not to trip over his own feet. The cool night air has sobered him up a bit, but he’s still feeling a little unsteady—and his leftover nerves from the confrontation certainly aren’t helping matters.

He kicks off his shoes once he reaches the beach, making sure to shuffle his bare feet loudly through the sand as he approaches Zuko from behind. Zuko sits hunched over in the sand, knees drawn up to his chest, the subtle tilt of his head the only indication that he’s heard Sokka.

“Hey,” Sokka says, softly.

“Hey,” Zuko says to his knees.

“Can I sit?”

Zuko nods.

Sokka settles down next to Zuko in the sand; not quite close enough to touch, but close enough that he can feel the warmth that radiates off Zuko like a furnace. He resists the urge to lean in, press their arms together.

They sit in silence for a long moment, watching the waves lap against the beach. The sky is clear and dark, the stars reflecting off the water in a perfect mirror. Sokka closes his eyes and feels the cool wind ruffle his hair, his clothes, raising goosebumps along his exposed skin.

Eventually, Sokka cracks an eye open and glances over, trying to subtly gauge how Zuko’s feeling. But Zuko is already watching him, chin pillowed on his crossed arms as he hugs his knees, eyes dark and unreadable in the night. Zuko blinks when Sokka catches him staring, but he doesn’t look away—and Sokka just stares steadfastly back, even as his heart hiccups violently in his chest.

“Are you okay?” Sokka asks.

Zuko heaves a sigh and breaks his gaze, his eyes dropping back to his knees as he picks at the seam of his pants. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just—needed a moment to cool down.”

Sokka hums. He watches Zuko’s fingers find a loose thread and yank. “What happened back there?”

“I just lost my temper, I guess.” Zuko shrugs, a half-hearted jerk of his shoulders. “I, uh, had pretty bad anger management issues as a kid, and I’ve mostly got a handle on it now, but I guess it still comes out sometimes.” He cuts his gaze toward Sokka, and then back away. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have yelled like that, or gotten angry. What you and Jet do is none of my business.”

Sokka leans back on his hands and tilts his head, considering. “I’m not gonna lie, you kinda freaked me out a little. I’ve never seen you angry like that before.” He chuckles. “It reminded me of a really pissed off tigerdillo, actually.”

Zuko’s mouth quirks up, and he huffs out a breath that’s not quite a laugh. But then his face drops again, his expression turning into something more somber as he stares out at the ocean. “I really am sorry, Sokka. I don’t like getting angry like that. I’m not—I’m not proud of it.” He sighs. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

Sokka observes him for a moment. The wind ruffles Zuko’s hair, pushing his bangs up and off of his forehead. He looks just as resplendent in the light of the moon as he does in the sun. Not a firebender thing, then.

“Okay,” Sokka says simply.

Zuko glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “What do you mean, ‘okay?’”

“I mean, okay.” Sokka shrugs. “I’ll take your word for it. I trust you.”

Zuko watches him for another second, and then turns back to the water. The sounds of the party filter down towards them from the house, just barely audible over the rhythmic crashing of the waves. Sokka tries not to fidget too obviously, his fingers twitching with the urge to ask Zuko the question that he so desperately wants the answer to…and ultimately, he can’t hold it in any longer.

“Do you really care that much?” he blurts.

Zuko shoots him a confused look. “About what?”

“About what Jet and I do.”

Zuko’s mouth forms a small “O”, his cheeks flushing. “I—of course I do. You—you’re so…” he trails off, looking embarrassed.

“…You know we weren’t doing anything, right?” Sokka says, his lips pulling into a grin despite himself. Zuko just has that kind of effect on him. “At least I wasn’t. And I’m pretty sure that was just Jet being Jet.”

“I know, but—I know that there’s something between you two, or there used to be, and I just—I don’t know,” Zuko says eloquently.

“I mean, yeah, we dated for a bit, like, two years ago. But I dumped him, because he’s a huge jerk and I can barely stand him. You seriously have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, _oh._

And suddenly, Sokka finds himself standing on that precipice, on the edge of a cliff, the wind at his back, urging him forward. Like he’s got his toes hanging just off the edge, staring down at the dizzying drop below. It’s terrifying, and he can’t see the bottom of it—doesn’t know if he’ll land in deep water or end up broken and bleeding on the hard, unyielding ground. But there’s something exhilarating about it too: the sensation of free-falling, that dangerous swoop in the pit of his stomach. Sokka’s ridden rollercoasters before—he’s familiar with the feeling, loves the thrill of it.

Besides, he’s got a natural curiosity. He wants to know what lies at the bottom.

And so he takes a deep breath, and leaps.

“I like you, Zuko. Like, a stupid amount.” Sokka is barely even aware of what he’s saying, the words tumbling from his lips before he can even think of reeling them back in. “And I mean definitely in a more than friends way. So yeah, you really don’t have to worry about Jet, or anybody else, for that matter, because I’m like, kind of obsessed with you.” He laughs self-consciously. “Um, and I was kind of getting the impression that you felt the same way? But of course I could be wrong, and it’s totally cool if you don’t, but I just really wanted to get this off my chest because it’s kind of been driving me crazy and I can’t stop thinking about kissing you and—”

Before Sokka can even really register what’s happening, there’s a hand on his thigh and another one cupping his jaw and then Zuko’s lips are on his, swallowing the rest of his words as he kisses him, hard.

Sokka makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, and his hand flies up to grip the back of Zuko’s head, threading his fingers into his hair. It’s just as soft as he’d always imagined. He can feel Zuko’s piercings pressing into his bottom lip, cool and hard, and he feels fucking _electrified._

He’s breathing embarrassingly hard when Zuko pulls away, his heart racing in his chest, and his mouth starts moving again before his brain has fully caught up to it.

“Okay, I’ll, uh, take that as a confirmation that you feel the same way? And, of course, I mean, this doesn’t have to mean anything, like I’m not expecting you to commit to me or anything like that if you don’t want to, but like if you do that’s also cool—”

“Sokka,” Zuko says. He looks annoyed, but also kind of hopelessly fond, and it makes Sokka’s heart do weird things in his chest. “Please shut up.”

“Okay.” Sokka grins. “Kiss me again?”

Zuko’s mouth curves into a smile, and he leans back in to do just that.

Zuko kisses him deeply, slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world, and it makes Sokka feel like he’s about to melt into a puddle right there in the sand. When Zuko parts his lips, Sokka does the same, and the moment their tongues touch it feels as if someone’s just sent an electric current up his spine. Sokka makes a sound that he would find truly mortifying in any other context and presses in deeper, leaning in further until he’s got one hand braced on Zuko’s hip. Zuko’s skin is almost burning hot beneath his palm, heat bleeding through the fabric, and Sokka feels almost dizzy with it, heady with the knowledge that this is something he can _have_ now.

One of Zuko’s hands skates up Sokka’s side, sliding over bare skin—oh yeah, the skimpy shirt was _definitely_ a good idea—and Sokka shivers and sinks his teeth into Zuko’s bottom lip. Zuko actually _moans,_ like they’re in a fucking porno or something, and Sokka can practically feel all the blood leave his brain as it rushes somewhere _else._

When Zuko eventually pulls away, Sokka tries to follow him—his mouth is _seriously_ addicting, it should actually be illegal or something—but Zuko stops him with a hand on his chest. Sokka blinks his eyes open, confused and a little disoriented, and frowns at him.

“Wait,” Zuko says.

Sokka squashes down the apprehension that threatens to rise in his throat. “What? Is something wrong?”

Zuko leans back, his eyes searching Sokka’s face. “Nothing, just—you’re not drunk, are you?”

“No. Well, I mean, yes. A little.” Sokka giggles—actually giggles, like he’s a fucking schoolgirl. “But Zuko, I promise I’m not kissing you just because I’m drunk. I’ve been wanting to do this basically since I met you.”

“Oh.” Zuko looks frankly adorable, even with his disheveled hair and his lips red and well-kissed. Sokka brings a finger up to toy with the gold chain around Zuko’s neck, and Zuko sways closer, almost unconsciously. “I—me too.”

Sokka can’t help it—he laughs, loudly and shamelessly. “Spirits, we are so fucking stupid. We seriously could have been doing this the entire time?”

Zuko gives him a crooked half-smile. “I guess so.”

“Well. Looks like we’ll just have to make up for lost time, then.”

“Looks like it,” Zuko says, so close that Sokka can feel his breath ghosting across his lips.

Sokka smiles into the kiss, and he can feel Zuko’s grin against his, and it’s kind of clumsy and their teeth end up clacking together in a way that is definitely _not_ sexy, but Sokka can’t even bring himself to care because he feels light, lighter than air—could probably give an airbender a run for their money right about now.

They kiss for— _spirits,_ who knows how long. Sokka feels like a teenager, caught up in the elation of a reciprocated crush and wanting to do nothing but kiss and touch and give into his every hormonal desire. But he doesn’t, because he’s twenty-one now and he likes to think that he has a better handle on such things at this point—and so it’s with a tremendous amount of self-control that he finally manages to pull himself away from Zuko’s mouth and murmur, “We should probably head back inside, huh?”

Zuko pouts, and Sokka pushes his face away with a laugh because Zuko _absolutely_ knows what that pout does to him.

“Seriously, come on. I don’t even know how long ago I told everyone I was going to go find you. They probably think we’re fucking or something.”

“They wouldn’t be too far off,” Zuko says with a smirk.

“Agni, get your head out of the gutter, Zuko,” Sokka hisses, jokingly rolling his eyes. “What we were doing was simply some very chaste kissing, and maybe some light petting. Nothing that could even remotely be considering _fucking._ You are so crass, I swear.”

Zuko laughs and shoves him away, and Sokka goes tumbling dramatically back into the sand. He’s probably got sand up in all his crevices at this point, though, so he doesn’t even care.

“Wow,” Sokka says to the dark night sky, sprawled on his back in the sand. “I finally put myself out there and confess my feelings to him, and this is how he treats me.”

Zuko’s face appears above him; he’s rolling his eyes, but his smile gives him away. “You are so stupid,” he says, and holds out a hand for Sokka to take.

Sokka grasps it and hauls himself to his feet, then takes a second to shake the sand out of his clothes. “Yeah, maybe. But now I know that you’re into it, I’m gonna be extra stupid all the time,” he says, and winks. Zuko snorts.

They make their way back up to the house, bumping shoulders as they walk. The party has wound down quite a bit, which means that they were definitely gone for a while, but Sokka can’t even find it in himself to feel guilty, because it was totally, absolutely worth it.

Katara is in the main room when they make it back inside, scrolling absently through her phone with her head in Aang’s lap. She glances up at their entrance; it takes her a second to register who they are, but then her eyes widen and she rockets into a sitting position, so fast that she nearly clocks Aang in the chin in the process.

“Where were you guys?” she nearly shouts, and Sokka winces. “You were gone for so long, and you weren’t answering your phone, and I was starting to get really worried. Do you realize what Dad would do if I managed to lose you at a party?”

“Um,” Sokka says, and Toph chooses that moment to storm into the room.

“Hey, is Sparky okay—oh,” she says, and skids to a stop, her face gone slack with surprise. “Wow. Holy shit. Fucking finally.”

Katara’s head whips around to stare at Toph, then at Sokka and Zuko, standing awkwardly side by side. “What? What is she talking about?”

“Nothing,” Sokka says, too quickly. Katara shoots him a flat look. He coughs. “Um, I’ll tell you when we get home.”

Katara narrows her eyes at him, but doesn’t press the matter.

At that moment, there’s a commotion on the other side of the room, and Jet stumbles in from the other entrance. He’s being dragged along by his two bandmates that Sokka still can’t remember the names of, one arm clenched in each of their grasps.

“Okay, I’m going, I’m _going,”_ Jet hisses, looking every inch like a disgruntled cat-owl. The trio comes to a stop in front of Sokka and Zuko, and then Jet’s bandmates release his arms and nudge him forward.

“Jet has something that he’d like to say,” says the shorter one primly. The other guy stays silent, but shoots Jet a very pointed look.

“I can fucking speak for myself, Smellerbee,” Jet grumbles, avoiding Sokka’s gaze. Smellerbee raises an eyebrow then, and tilts her head in their direction.

Jet sighs dramatically, but raises his head to meet their eyes. Sokka does his best to keep his face unreadable, not wanting to give Jet the satisfaction of a reaction. He can feel Zuko tense and still beside him, and silently hopes that this wont end in another blowout, or, spirits forbid, an actual brawl.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” Jet says, and Sokka feels his eyebrows climb higher up his forehead despite himself. That’s two apologies from Jet in one day—what’s next? World peace? The apocalypse? “I shouldn’t have tried to get under your skin like that, Zuko. It was, um. Not cool.”

Sokka feels Zuko relax slightly beside him. “Not cool?” Zuko says, sounding amused.

Jet huffs and crosses his arms. “Not cool, lame, stupid, mean-spirited, whatever you want to call it. I’m just saying that I’m sorry, okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sokka can see Zuko’s mouth twitch up into a smile. “Okay. I forgive you. And, uh, I guess I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.”

Jet eyes Zuko for a second, his face pensive, and then he holds out his fist, almost hesitantly. “Are we cool?”

Zuko chuckles and bumps Jet’s fist with his own. “Yeah. We’re cool.”

“I guess I’ll forgive you too, or whatever,” Sokka adds, and Jet just rolls his eyes.

“Well, wasn’t that a mature, grown-up conversation,” comes Azula’s voice from behind them, and Sokka whips around, startled. Azula stands in the doorway to the kitchen, looking supremely bored as she taps away at her phone. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m tired and want to go to bed, so if you would all be so kind as to get out of my house.”

“Hey, it’s my house too,” Zuko says.

Azula flaps her hand at him. “A minor detail.”

Everyone takes a few minutes to clean up the mess around the house, despite Zuko and Azula’s insistence that they’ll take care of it in the morning. Katara texts Hakoda to let him know that Aang—who is now sober—is going to drive them home. Soon enough, everyone is shuffling out the door, the house eerily quiet now that Azula has shut the music off.

Sokka is the last to leave. He lingers at the front door, waving at Katara, Aang, and Toph to head down to the car without him, and ignoring the knowing look that Toph gives him. Once they’re out of sight, he turns back to Zuko, who is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and watching Sokka with a soft expression that makes him flush inexplicably.

“I’m glad you came,” Zuko says, smiling gently.

Sokka smiles back. His chest feels all weird and warm and squishy. “Me too.”

“Text me?”

“Of course.”

They both lean in at the same time and meet in a chaste kiss, Zuko’s hand warm and steady against Sokka’s cheek. It still manages to make Sokka feel like he’s stuck his finger in an electrical socket.

Katara’s voice echoes up the long driveway. “Sokka! Get your butt out here, we’re leaving!”

Sokka grins ruefully, his forehead pressed against Zuko’s. “I think I have to go before my sister kills me.”

He feels the puff of Zuko’s laughter against his lips. “Now we wouldn’t want that.”

“Definitely not.”

Sokka presses one last kiss to Zuko’s lips, and then turns and bounds down the stairs. He walks backwards down the driveway for as long as he can, keeping Zuko, still standing in the doorway, in sight. He shrinks and shrinks until he’s just a silhouette, arm raised in a wave; Sokka waves back, and then practically sprints the rest of the way to Aang’s car, his face split into a giddy smile.

His heart, his ribcage, his entire body feels full to bursting—like he might split at the seams from the sheer volume of his feelings.

He hasn’t felt this way in a long, long time. And it’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, but he thinks he likes it.

His phone buzzes with a notification somewhere between Toph’s house and his own. Sokka can’t help the grin that steals over his face when he reads the message, and waves Katara away when she gives him a questioning look.

> [1:43 am] **zuko hot tattoo:** Text me when you get home safe <3

Yeah, okay, scratch that. He definitely likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- the fic finally lives up to its title :)  
> \- [i am here to spread the jet vapes agenda](https://dickpuncher420.tumblr.com/post/177170475827/quick-which-atla-character-would-vape-oh-my-god)  
> \- beer-bending is a game of my own invention that mashes up beer pong with pro-bending rules  
> \- illustration can be found on [tumblr](https://dickpuncherdraws.tumblr.com/post/635699926321496064/thought-it-would-be-fun-to-illustrate-a-scene-from) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/dickpuncher420/status/1331340099397664768?s=20)


End file.
